


You Had Me at Flawless

by bekommissar_is_canon



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Pitch Perfect 2, becissar - Freeform, becommissar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:21:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bekommissar_is_canon/pseuds/bekommissar_is_canon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can run from Feisty Maus, but you can't hide from the Kommissar. Especially if Pieter knows where you live.<br/>Edit: no longer updated<br/>2nd Edit: <s>rewrote </s> edited the first 11 chapters and made minor changes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Garden Gnomes

**Author's Note:**

> Life doesn't always turn out the way we imagine, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. A Becommissar love story.
> 
> I will post in short chapters and go back and forth in time, think 500 Days of Summer. I do a happy dance at comments and constructive feedback. I hope you enjoy, and may your day be filled with Becommissar love!

**Berlin, November 2014**

 

The perfect night to stay inside, Luisa thought as she stretched on the couch. Sub-zero temperatures, never-ending rain and muddy snow were a given in Berlin, and 2014 was no exception. Even though she preferred the sunshine, the cold weather motivated her to work harder and aim higher. Considering Das Sound Machine’s promising future in 2015, motivation was essential indeed.

She gathered her legs clad in black tights underneath her and put on her headphones. She always listened to Pieter’s music compilations over and over again before starting with the choreography. Precision was what Das Sound Machine was famous for, and precision came with diligent practice and repetition. The group might sometimes find her attention to detail superfluous, but her perfectionism had made DSM the European champions, and she was immensely proud and protective of their success.

“Luisa!” The door flung open as her tall roommate with spiky black hair barged inside, throwing his stuff on the floor. “You will not believe this!” 

She looked up from the music scores on her lap in surprise. “What is it?” she asked warily. Pieter was prone to get excited over the silliest things, like the zombie tableware he found for half-price last month.

“Deutschland will make you jump, jump!” he hollered and started to dance like crazy, no attention to technique whatsoever.

“You are pathetic,” she said disdainfully , watching her best friend head bang an imaginary wall.

He threw a folder at her and bounced around in their cramped living room. Her eye caught the elaborate emblem of the American National A Cappella Association. “They want us to do a national tour in the US!” she exclaimed, her deep voice an octave higher. “ _Unglaublich!_ Unbelievable!”

“We are replacing the American champions!” yelled Pieter.

“Our first tour in the US!” She jumped up, she could hardly contain her excitement. “The potential! The opportunities! This is simply – her _pants_ split open?”

“I know!” Pieter laughed, slapping his knee in delight. “It’s too funny!”

“ _Nein_ ,” breathed Luisa, opening her bright blue eyes wide. “The president saw what? _Du verarschst mich, oder?_ This is another sick prank of yours?”

“Not this time! Even I’m not imaginative enough for this!” he howled.

Luisa shook her head in bewilderment. They had struck gold, they were to tour the whole country! And they were taking the American champions’ victory tour! Oh, this was by far the sweetest DSM victory, this was just too delicious for words.

“The Barden Bellas,” she read aloud. It sounded so immature, so _kindisch_ , childish. American a cappella must be non-existent if a group called the _Barden Bellas_ could win. Now, Das Sound Machine, that name meant business.

“It sounds like it should be the Garden Bellas, no? Or the Garden Gnomes?”

She snorted in agreement and turned on her laptop to google the Bellas. A moment later the page was flooded with images of a bunch of young girls in tacky costumes and overdone make-up. “A college club,” said Luisa in disbelief. “ _Ernsthaft?_ Seriously?”

“Sad, really,” sighed Pieter. He picked up the take-away. “I got us Chinese to celebrate. I’ll set the table.”

“Did you get my extra soy sauce?” she demanded.

“ _Natürlich_ , Katzi,” he hollered back. She grinned, she knew he would never forget. She found the Bellas’ official homepage and scrolled through the news. Fine for a tween group, but national champions? Americans. The only one who seemed somewhat interesting was the lead singer. She was a slim, slight girl in skinny black jeans, a gray vest and half a dozen ear piercings. Granted, her eyeliner wasn’t perfect, but at least she looked halfway edgy in comparison to the others.

She closed her laptop with a satisfied smile. DSM was the defending European champion, they had an overseas tour to organize, and the world championships were coming up. 2015 was shaping up to be a very promising year indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My doodles for this chapter!](http://bekommissar-is-canon.tumblr.com/post/131642786853/you-had-me-at-flawless-part-1-she-looked-up)


	2. Zombie Driven Cars

**Barden College, April 2015**

 

It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon at Barden College. Students were lazing outside in the meadows, basking in the sunshine. Spring had arrived at last, and everyone was delighted at the opportunity to finally replenish their depleted Vitamin D stores.

Everyone except for the Bellas, that is.

“Can we all just calm down, please?” said Beca loudly. The Bellas were having an emergency meeting after their dismal convention performance, and things were not going well.

“I can’t calm down,” said Chloe, shaking her auburn curls. “We have hit rock bottom and are facing extinction!”

“We’re the dodo bird equivalent of a cappella,” agreed Amy.

“Look, we just need to start enjoy singing again,” said Emily cheerfully. “Right? I mean, if we have fun, the audience will have fun!”

The rest of the Bellas stared at Emily, whose wide smile faltered at their steely gaze. “We don’t sing for  _fun_ ,” said Chloe in horror. “This is a  _calling_! The meaning of life!”

“Give Emily a break, she has a point,” objected Beca. “We just need to get back to basics. We need to stop forcing ourselves to change.”

Chloe sighed in exasperation. “We  _need_  to change! The old Bellas are never going to beat DSM! We need to do what they’re doing ten times better!”

“We need a system update,” nodded Stacie. “Like the cellphone apps. But without the glitches.”

“Once I infiltrated Facebook and crashed their Messenger app,” whispered Lily.  

“I know someone whose phone battery exploded and blew off his thumb.”

Beca groaned and buried her face in her hands. The Bellas might be in a slump performance-wise, but their conversations were still random as ever.

“It’s actually very simple,” said Chloe, pacing the room. “We just need an Olympic gymnast instructor, someone to beatbox and Beca to dye her hair blonde.”

“Dye my hair blonde?” repeated Beca, confused.

“So you can be our Kommissar!” said Chloe in exasperation.

Beca felt her cheeks turn red at the mention of the Kommissar. Thankfully, Chloe was too engrossed in her thoughts to notice. “And we need props. Something bigger than the moving cars.”

“You can’t top cars driven by ghosts,” said Cynthia-Rose.

“Zombies would  _so_  top the ghosts,” protested Amy.

“Come on!” Beca tugged at her hair. “We need to be ourselves at the Worlds. We can’t beat DSM at their game, so we need to beat them at  _our_  game.”

Amy stared at Beca. “I hate to break this to you, but we _have_  no game.”

“Exactly. That’s why our retreat is so crucial,” said Chloe determinedly. “A cappella boot camp with Aubrey will whip us back into shape.”

“Look, I think if we try something special for the Worlds we could really stand out,” said Beca. “Okay, DSM’s technique is perfect, but they’re actually kind of predictable. So we need to do something surprising and unique. Like … like an original!”

The Bellas gasped collectively. “Don’t you remember what happened at the riff off?” exclaimed Stacie.

As a matter of fact she did, vividly. She frequently dreamed about it. “All I’m saying is …”

“We’ll work out our Worlds performance after the retreat,” said Chloe firmly. “Now we need to get moving, or we’re going to be late for aerobics class.”

She picked up her bag and left the room, the rest of the Bellas following suit.

“Cynthia, can I have a word with you?” asked Beca quietly.

“Sure,” she said, throwing Beca a surprised look. “Shoot.”

“Would it be okay if I came with you to the Pride Alliance meeting tonight?” she asked timidly.

Cynthia’s face broke into a knowing smile. “Girl, is this about Chloe?”

“No!” Beca said hurriedly. “I mean, I love Chloe, but … not like  _that_.”

“You could have fooled me,” Cynthia grinned. “Interested in doing advocacy work?”

She paused. “That too, but what I really want is to, well, talk a little. To people who would understand.”

Cynthia patted her back. “Sure you can. Everyone’s real friendly and helpful. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, relieved at Cynthia’s reaction.

They gathered their belongings and walked out into the sunshine. “I couldn’t take my eyes off that Kommissar, either,” said Cynthia conversationally.

Beca blushed, but she knew she could trust Cynthia. “She is stunning, isn’t she?”

“She is,” she agreed. “And she liked you.”

“Since when do you call someone you like a troll?” asked Beca disbelievingly.

“Coming from a German Kommissar, troll is a probably a term of endearment.”


	3. See You Next Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some swearing near the end.

**Berlin, December 2014**

“ _Nein! Aufhören!_ Stop!” yelled Luisa at the top of her lungs. The DSM members stopped mid-dance at her command, relieved at the opportunity to catch their breath.

“Markus, you are lifting Anna too late,” she said disapprovingly. “You lift her on the beat, five-six-seven-eight _-lift_ , not after.”

“The problem is, at eight Tobi is standing right next to me,” said Markus, gesturing at the gangly dancer with glasses.

“You are standing too closely together,” she pointed out. “You are a huge intimidating wave, a tsunami, you have to spread out for effect.” She turned to face Babette, their chief dance instructor and Luisa’s co-choreographer. “ _Was meinst du?_ What do you think?”

Babette frowned and squinted her black eyes in concentration. “I agree. Tobi, at six take two steps to the left. That means you two on the left, you need to take exactly two steps as well, but in the opposite direction.”

“Good. Let’s take it from my entrance and try again,” ordered Luisa. “And Anna, when Markus lifts you, bend further at the waist. You are standing too straight.” 

“Five, six, seven, eight!” called out Babette.

“… Red tape to keep the truth confined!” sang Luisa as she faced Pieter.

“Tobi, to the right!” yelled Babette, and Markus raised Anna right on time.

“ _Geh_!” shouted Luisa, satisfied with the tsunami’s timing. This time they finished the sequence without pausing, earning the group a nod of approval from Luisa.

“That was better,” she said. “The ending is still a little rough, but it’s fine for the third rehearsal.” She suppressed a grin at the relieved expression on her colleagues’ faces.

“I think that’s enough, it’s been a long day,” said Babette. “Don’t forget the costume fitting on the third, nine o’clock sharp!”

Luisa clapped her hands. “Well, then, I wish you all a Happy New Year’s!” she said warmly, not a trace left of her infamous intensity. The DSM crew was a closely knit family, who always celebrated birthdays and life events together. Every month someone held a Sunday brunch at their place, a tradition started by Luisa. However, during rehearsals they were nothing but professional, and nobody dared chatter under Luisa’s hawkish gaze.

“ _Frohes Neues_!” cheered the rest and burst into applause.

“Something from Luisa and me,” said Pieter, holding out a wicker basket filled with small boxes wrapped in silver paper.

“And me!” piped Elif, fishing out a box of gingerbread men. Everyone exchanged gifts and hugged each other goodbye, groaning at Tobi’s annual joke that they would see each other next year.

***

Pieter plugged in his laptop and sighed contentedly. “Good thing we reserved a table seat, my laptop’s battery is almost dead.”

“Yes, what would we do if you couldn’t blow up people for three hours?” said Luisa sarcastically.

“They’re not people, they’re zombies,” huffed Pieter. “You eat off them every night, you should know the difference by now.”

“One day I’m going to accidentally-on-purpose break the whole set, you know.”

“You do that and I’ll throw away all your ABBA records.”

Luisa rolled her eyes and returned to her novel. They were on the evening train to Frankfurt, where they would ring into the New Year’s with Pieter’s eldest brother. He was getting his Ph.D. in medical physics, but was as much of a goofball as Pieter.

Luisa got along with Pieter’s three brothers splendidly, at least much better than with anyone in her nuclear family. Normal daughters would spend the holidays with their parents and sleep in their pink childhood bedroom, the walls covered in fading posters of pop stars. In return, normal parents would actually give a fuck that their daughter was visiting her hometown and invite her to stay.

At least she was going to spend the whole next day with Nina. That was worth all the shit in the world.

***

A few hours later Luisa was rudely woken up by Pieter, who was poking her arm. “Wake up, Katzi, we’re nearly there.”

She rubbed her eyes and glanced at her watch. “Good, we’re on time.”

“It’s funny, coming back, isn’t it?” he said, gazing out the window. “It doesn’t really feel like home anymore.”

“Berlin is home,” she agreed. “I can’t say I miss Frankfurt. I don’t exactly have the fondest memories here.”

“Hey, you must have some,” he grinned. “The ones with yours truly must be the highlights of your life.”

“Idiot.” She playfully punched his shoulder. "My fondest memory has to be the day I outdanced you at hip-hop class, even though it was my first time ever.”

“You so did not outdance me,” he objected.

“So did.”


	4. The Troll's Knickers

**Volkswagen Showroom, February 2015**

 

She was in an auto showroom with a silver balloon in one hand and a bonbon in the other.

Beca stared at her fellow Bellas, who were looking just as dumbstruck as she was. “What the hell just happened?” she asked weakly.

***

It all had started innocently enough.

“We’re going on a field trip,” Chloe announced in January, brandishing a flyer. “Those German Dummkopfs are performing at the Volkswagen auto show next Saturday.”

“Great idea!” beamed Emily. “Knowing what we’re up against in the Worlds will definitely help us win.”

“They’re just another a cappella group,” said Stacie. “How different can they be, anyway?”

“We’re used to the Treblemakers,” agreed Amy. “And they’re German. They probably yodel in poufy dresses.”

“The Dutch yodel,” objected Ashley. “With those long trumpet-looking things.”

“Nah, they do that in the Alps with the goats. The Alps aren’t in the Netherlands. That’s Switzerland.”

“My pinky toe fell off from frostbite when I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.”

***

“ _Lauter_!” yelled Luisa.

 “DSM! Ja! DSM! Ja!”

The DSM crew was backstage chanting in a circle, as they always did before a performance. The intensity was tangible; even Pieter was slightly nervous, even though he’d never admit it. Luisa had taken her perfectionism to a whole new level – one understudy was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Babette had developed insomnia, and rumor had it that the seamstress had gone cross-eyed under the workload.

“Last five!” hollered the stage manager.

“Okay, listen up!” shouted Luisa and clapped her hands. Everyone stopped chanting at once.

“We all know how much this tour means,” she said, her cerulean eyes flashing determinedly. “So we are going to perform better than we ever have. We are going to show those Americans what German precision really means!”

“Yeah!”

“Go out there and sing your vocal chords raw!” she roared.

***

Beca should have known they were doomed when the cars started moving backwards.

“Holy aca-mole!” breathed Flo as they entered the imposing, dark room.

“Okay, the cars moved. Nothing else happened,” said Chloe, annoyed.

“Yeah, but they’re moving backwards,” whispered Rebel. “With ghosts driving them.”

_“We are Das Sound Machine.”_

Beca jumped at the deep voice blaring from the speakers. Wasn’t this supposed to be a live show?

_“A German collective operating in concert to create sonic mastery.”_

Holy shit, those faces had some high cheekbones.

_“What better way to appreciate automotive perfection?”_

Considering her lit papers were less eloquently written, it was completely her fault she didn’t realize just how doomed they were.

***

_“Come on!”_

The crowd went wild, nobody had seen such a performance before. Viewers around the country were gasping at the artistry of these Germans. This wasn’t just another geeky a cappella group, no; this was art, this was the future of music.

Meanwhile, the Bellas had temporarily lost control of their facial muscles.

“Do we clap?” asked Emily faintly.

“Politely clap,” shrugged Chloe, as if they witnessed sonic mastery every day.

“Danke schön,” boomed the blonde lead singer, her eyes scanning the room.

Winged eyeliner never looked that good on _her_ , thought Beca indignantly as she scrutinized the ginormous woman. Surely someone else had done her make-up.

As if she had heard her, the flawless eyes rested on Beca’s face for a split second. Or so she thought.

***

Luisa’s mouth twitched at the sight of the brunette Bella. This was going to be fun.

Luisa took a final bow – the crowd was still applauding like crazy, these Americans were so easily pleased – and stepped off the stage, her bandmates following her. Pieter and Luisa had guessed that the Bellas would show up, but even she hadn’t expected them to look so petrified.

“The Barden Bellas!” She held out her hand for a towel to wipe off her imaginary sweat. “You are here to see us? Is it because you are, what do the American kids say, jelly?”

“We are so not jelly,” said the one with auburn hair, pursing her lips in a rather childish fashion.

“We should really thank you for making this tour a reality,” she said airily. “You know, with your bumbling ineptitude.” She turned to Pieter. “We should send them something. Fruit basket?”

“Yum yum.”

“Or would you prefer mini muffins?”

Unexpectedly, the teeny Bella piped up in indignation. “Look, we just came here to check you guys out before we kick your ass."

“You?” She looked down in amusement. “ _You_ are the kicker of ass? But you are so tiny! Like an elf!” She paused dramatically. “Or is it a fairy?”

“Troll,” put in Pieter helpfully.

“That’s right! You are like a troll.”

The Bellas gasped collectively at the insult. The elf, though, didn't seem to notice.

“You … are physically flawless,” she said, staring at Luisa unabashedly. “But it doesn’t mean I _like_ you.”

Oh, this was the best stress reliever ever.

***

Beca had never made such a big fool of herself ever before, and that was saying something.

“Aca-Wiedersehen, bitches!” she yelled, flailing her hands. “Oh, why am I using my hands so much?”

Had she really said she was sexually confused in front of a bunch of strangers? And why couldn’t she stop staring?

“Why don’t we get something cold to drink?” suggested Chloe warily.

“You go ahead, I just need to wash my face. I’m fine!” she added defensively at the stares.

***

Backstage, the elated DSM members were getting ready for their interview with MTV. Their performance had exceeded their expectations, Luisa hadn’t found a single thing to criticize, and the Bellas were simply hilarious.

“Want me to rub your neck?” Markus asked Luisa with mock concern.

“We have literally nothing!” shrieked Anna.

“Calm down, now,” said Luisa mildly, although she was smirking herself. “We’re on in a few minutes.”

“You’re one to talk,” scoffed Pieter, lowering his voice. “You had the troll’s knickers in a bunch.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said innocently. He didn't need to know she was savouring the troll's shameless compliments.

Pieter snickered. “Hey, why don’t we ask the troll herself?”

Luisa turned around in surprise and saw a petrified Beca standing at the door, clutching balloons and a bouquet of flowers .

“Why, you shouldn’t have!” she exclaimed. “Pieter, look, the Bellas sent us a present.”

“It’s not from us!” squeaked Beca. “I was looking for the bathroom, and the deliveryman saw me – “

"Isn't she a good girl," smirked Luisa. “Now run along, tiny elf.”

“Here’s your tip!” said Pieter mockingly, shoving a sweet in her hand.

“Who are the flowers from?” asked Anna, watching Beca scurry away.

Luisa peered at the card on the bouquet. _“Dear DSM, congratulations on your national tour. I would like to invite you to the National A Cappella Laser Ninja Dragon League, hosted by yours truly, the biggest a cappella fan on Earth. The password is [fart noise]. Please RSVP.”_

“Sound like fun,” said Babette. “It’ll give us a chance to unwind.”

“Well, the password is right up Pieter’s alley,” remarked Luisa drily.


	5. The Artistic Internet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some swearing (this should be my default note for every story)

**Copenhagen, September 2015**

“What kind of a hotel is this?” grumbled Beca, ripping off her headphones. “The WiFi is so sketchy, it’s scribbling on the walls.”

Chloe looked up from her nails and pulled a face. “You did _not_ say that.”

“Sketchy, scribbling, get it? Whatever.” She unplugged her laptop and stashed it in her backpack. “Maybe the connection is better in the lobby.”

“Okay, bye!” waved Chloe. “Bring me something sweet, will you?”

The lobby was deserted at this hour, save for the yawning receptionist. She plopped herself on the red leather couch and fished out her laptop, music scores and headphones.

Motivated by her recent success during her internship, she was busy working on a new song with Emily. The producer was willing to listen to anything Beca had to offer, and she was eager to strike while the iron was hot. Not to mention the fact that Emily was a joy to work with; she never complained about the workload and was always willing to improve.

If only all the Bellas took constructive criticism so well, she thought desolately. The Worlds were in three – _three!_ – days, and the stress was getting to everyone, though in varying degrees. Their opening sequence, in particular, had caused much grief, especially for the ambidextrous Flo. Nowadays she felt she had been too harsh on Aubrey; she wasn’t a control freak, she was just trying to keep the Bellas afloat.

For better or worse, it would be over in three days. Concentrate on the music. She pressed play and felt herself relax. Now _this_ , producing music, she was damn good at this, and not even last place at the Worlds could take it away from her. She bopped her head to the beat and started to hum lightly.

After a while, she was distracted by the nagging feeling that someone was watching her. She turned her head and was greeted with the petrifying sight of a leering Kommissar, peering at her monitor.

“Surely you aren’t singing this at the Worlds, tiny Maus?”

She ripped off her headphones and hurriedly ran her fingers through her hair. “How the fuck do you always manage to find me?” she blurted. “Is your sense of smell as perfect as your figure?”

Let the self-humiliation commence.

The Kommissar laughed, revealing her perfect teeth. “Even German noses have automotive perfection, Mäuschen.” She gracefully sat down next to Beca and put on her headphones. “Press play,” she ordered.

Beca obliged, trying not to show how flustered she was. The Kommissar fixed her eyes on the lyrics lying on her lap – it felt like her eyes were burning holes through the paper – and listened intently. Beca braced herself for a savvy put-down as the song ended.

“That’s actually rather good,” she said, nodding in approval. “Very soulful. Is that the young Bella singing?”

“Yes, that’s Emily,” she answered, dumbfounded. Had the Kommissar complimented her music?

“You don’t have to look so shocked." She eyed Beca with a smirk on her face. “So, is this your little hobby?”

“It’s not my hobby,” she said. “I’m interning for a music producer. I’m hoping to make a career out of producing.”

“Oho! That’s very ambitious.”

“What, you think I can’t do it?” she said indignantly. “You think I’m not good enough?”

“No, I just meant that it is a very tough industry,” she replied, taken aback.

“Oh.” That was twice the Kommissar had passed a chance to make fun of her. “Sorry. It’s just, well, I’m a little sensitive about my music. My whole family thinks I’m wasting my life. And my degree, which is even worse.”

She raised her penciled eyebrows. “I understand.” Something about her voice gave Beca the impression she understood more than she was letting on.

“So, your degree! You graduated?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject.

“Yes, a few months ago,” said Beca. “B.A. in music theory and minor in media studies. They already think I wasted my college ed, so their expectations aren’t that high.”

“ _Glückwunsch!_ Congratulations. That is a, how do you say, huge milestone.”

“Thank you,” she said in bewilderment. She was actually having a normal conversation with the German goddess. In a Danish hotel lobby. In English.

Her life was complicated.

“What are you doing down here at this hour, anyway?"

“The Wi-Fi in my room. It’s so sketchy, it was drawing on the walls.” She felt her cheeks turn red at her bad pun. Okay, _now_  the Kommissar had to insult her. Hell, she would insult herself.

To her utmost surprise, she burst into her throaty laughter. “That is good. I have to remember that for Pieter.”

Hell must have frozen over. “You’re quite good friends with Pieter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said shortly. Beca waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing.

“And why are you here?" she asked finally.

“Pieter is vlogging about the Worlds. He kept on trying to include me in his video, so I left.”

“Vlogging? Is he on Youtube?”

“Yes,” she replied reluctantly. “It’s just ridiculous stuff, but he’s rather popular in Germany. At least it’s free publicity for DSM.”

“What’s his channel’s name?”

The Kommissar glared at her in reply. Beca decided not to push her luck. It would be easy enough to find, anyway.

“So, did you go to college?” she asked bravely, but was cut short by Kommissar’s chiming cellphone.

 _Nina Festnetz_ , flashed on the screen. Beca had never seen Kommissar’s face light up like that before. “Hallo!” she answered and walked away, as if Beca could keep up with the Kommissar's outpour in German.

The Kommissar could actually smile, she marveled. She felt a sudden pang of jealousy as she watched her chatter animatedly. She wished she could make her smile, too, like this Nina person.

A few minutes later she turned off her phone and nodded in Beca’s direction. “Don’t stay past your bedtime," she said mockingly.

“Old friend?” asked Beca nonchalantly.

Her red lips curled up. “ _Gute Nacht_ , Maus."

***

She had forgotten how sweet flirting could be.

True, she wasn’t one for mushy relationships and couldn’t stand Pieter when he was in a lovey-dovey state. However, having a cute woman on the go was too delicious for words. And with a phone call from her nine-year-old sister, no less.

“If you turn your camera in my direction I will throw it out the window,” she threatened. If Tiny Maus found Pieter’s channel and saw her in his video, she would have to kill either herself or Pieter.

“I’m done filming,” said Pieter, raising his hands in defense. “But I can’t upload it, the WiFi sucks here.”

“It’s sketchy,” she said in English. “It’s an artist. Get it?”

“You did not just say that," said Pieter disbelievingly. "Shitty puns are my territory. Why are you punning in English, anyway?”

“That pun wouldn’t work in German, you idiot.”

He watched her peer at her reflection and smooth back her hair. “ _Scheiße_. Please tell me you weren’t with that squeaky dwarf.”

She shrugged. “Okay, I wasn’t with that squeaky dwarf.”

“You _were_ with that squeaky dwarf,” he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“I ran into her in the lobby,” said Luisa, annoyed. “Not to mention, it’s none of your business.”

“Yes, somehow you always manage to run into her instead of Inflexible Tina, or the Naan-Stops, or a fucking zombie,” he scoffed. “You just talk to her because she drools at the sight of you. Like a puppy.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Watch your mouth.”

“I’m just stating the obvious.”

“You don’t know shit,” she spat. “So butt out.”

Pieter flinched at her harsh tone. Despite her infuriation, she felt a fleeting pang of guilt. Damn his emotional warfare.

“I can’t run into zombies, the apocalypse hasn’t started yet,” she said, lowering her voice. “That was a trick question.”

He still didn't know shit, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Festnetz: landline  
> Gute Nacht: Goodnight


	6. The Discriminating Plate

**Frankfurt, March 2000**

 

A thin, gangly teen with jelled black hair was in a rush. He was late, as usual, and whoever was late had to bring something sweet for the next class. Since he had no pocket money left, he really had to be on time.

He sprinted up the stairs three at a time. Good, he would have just enough time to change. He barged past Studio 1 and 2, the largest rooms with a barre and pianos. He liked to play chopsticks there when the building was deserted.

Someone was sniffling in Studio 2. He abruptly stopped in his tracks. Wasn’t ballet class over by now?

A blonde girl about his age was rocking back and forth, occasionally wiping her nose on her wrist. She was crying, but she didn’t look sad; rather, she came across as annoyed, almost angry.

He cleared his throat and carefully pushed the door open. The girl's head snapped up at the intrusion. “ _Was?_ What?” she demanded, glaring at him with blazing blue eyes.

Against his better judgment, he stepped inside the spacious studio.

“ _Keine Schuhe!_ No shoes!” she ordered. He felt her death-like gaze burn holes through his face. “This is a ballet studio!”

He raised a hand in defense and tugged off his muddy sneakers. He pushed his luck on an hourly basis, but even he was smart enough to realize this girl wasn’t to be messed with.

“There aren’t any more classes today,” she scowled.  “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Pieter.” He carefully stuck out his hand. He hoped fervently she wouldn’t bite it off.

She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, gratefully, she shook his hand. “I’m Luisa.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” He cautiously sat down next to her. 

“Those shoes hurt too much?” he asked conversationally.

No response. No matter. “Well, I bet I would cry if I wore them. See, my feet are a size thirteen.” He stuck out a ginormous foot and wiggled his zombie-clad toes. “My mom says I’ll end up a giant. I think she’s afraid I won’t fit through the front door.”

She let out a muffled laugh. “Do they make pointe shoes my size? I think they’d rather suit me. Bet I could dance like a gazelle in them.”

“Bet you’d dance like a hippo,” she sniffed.

“I like hippos. Don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you.” He watched her grin in the mirror. She had such a pretty smile.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re crying, or do I have to do a hippo dance?”

She kneaded her wet eyes. “My teacher told me I can’t become a real ballerina,” she mumbled. “She said I don’t have the right build for professional training. She humiliated me in front of everyone.”

“Oh.” For once, he was at a loss for words. “You really want to become a ballerina, then?”

“Not just any ballerina,” she objected. “I want to be a _principal_ dancer. I want to be Aurora, Giselle, Odette and Odile. I want to be _famous_.”

“Sounds like you want to have multiple personality disorder.”

She made an impatient noise. “Don’t you have an off button?”

“Don’t think my parents haven’t been looking for one.” She rolled her eyes yet again; that made three in past five minutes.

“So, your teacher said you couldn’t be a principal?”

She pursed her lips. “I want to attend the auditions of the _Ballettakademie_ in Berlin. She said I shouldn’t bother. She said I was too stocky for a professional dancer.”

“You’re not stocky!” he protested. “I mean, you’re tall. And strong,” he added hastily.

“Damn right I’m strong.” She straightened her back. “That’s why I’m going to audition anyway.”

“Does that mean you’ll live in Berlin if you get accepted?”

“ _Natürlich._ I’ll stay at the dorms.”

“And your parents are fine with that?”

She shrugged. “My parents don’t know about the auditions yet. I doubt they’d care, anyway.”

“Wouldn’t care?” he repeated in surprise. He couldn’t imagine his own parents not caring about such a monumental decision.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said sullenly. “I’ll go to Berlin by myself. Then I’ll get accepted, I’ll graduate and become a star. You wait.”

“Oh, I’ll wait for you,” he winked. Eye-roll number four.  

He glanced at his watch. He was already five minutes late. “Alas, I must leave. It has been an honor meeting you, Miss Principal.” He stood up and bowed to the great dancer.

She looked up in surprise. “You have to leave?”

“I’m late for hip-hop class.”

“Oh.”

He was suddenly hit with a brilliant idea. Really, he was a genius. “Why don’t you come with me?” he offered.

“Hip-hop?” She snorted. “I’ll pass.”

“I see,” he said gravely. “You’re afraid of making a fool of yourself. I understand.”

She opened her eyes wide. “What did you say?”

“You don’t have to explain. Ballet isn’t like hip-hop, after all.”

“Damn right it’s not.” She jumped to her feet, her pointe shoes clacking noisily against the floor. “I’ll show you.”

“Bet you can’t keep up,” he said cheekily.

“Bet the teacher won’t realize it’s my first class,” she shot back.

“We’ll see,” he grinned. “Like Chinese? Loser buys dinner.”

“You’re on.”

He was late, he was broke and was about to be humiliated by a stocky ballerina. Life was swell.

 

***

 

**Frankfurt, December 2014**

“And that, _kleine Nina_ , is how I met your mother.”

Nina scrunched her nose in confusion. “What does hip-hop class have to do with my Mama? She never did ballet.”

“Pieter’s joking,” smiled Luisa. “Pieter, she’s too young for that series, you know that.”

“We must be getting old if the younger generation doesn’t understand our jokes."

“Speak for yourself,” said Luisa haughtily. “I’m as hip as they come. Right, _Süße_?”

“Right!” beamed Nina and gave Luisa a high-five.

They passed a gelato shop. “Oh, can we please get some ice cream?” begged Nina. “Pretty please?”

Luisa frowned, but Pieter knew she’d cave in. “Only if you promise to eat your veggies tonight.”

“Promise! This time I won’t spit my broccoli in my napkin!”

“You spit it out?” repeated Luisa in horror.

“So did I,” shrugged Pieter. “C’mon, let’s get a huge cone each. What’s your favorite flavor?”

Nina squinted her eyes in concentration. “Chocolate chip, mint chocolate, chocolate fudge,” she read out loud. “Why is there always so much chocolate? I don’t even _like_ chocolate.”

 Pieter gasped in mock horror. “How can you not like chocolate? That’s against the laws of physics!”

“Unlike you, _some_ people have a discerning palate,” said Luisa snootily.

“Yeah, I have a discriminating plate,” agreed Nina. Thankfully unaware of Luisa’s silent laughter, she pointed at a yellow tub of ice cream. “I’d like one scoop of lemon and one scoop of raspberry, please.”

“Of course,” smiled the young woman behind the counter. “Anything for Mom and Dad?”

Nina giggled.

“Dad would like a scoop of chocolate chip, mint chocolate and chocolate fudge,” said Pieter with a deadpan voice. “What do you want, Mom?”

Eye-roll number five zillion, three billion, nine hundred and fifty-six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> die Ballettakademie: ballet academy  
> natürlich: naturally  
> klein(e): small, little  
> Süße: sweetie
> 
>  
> 
> [My doodles for this chapter!](http://bekommissar-is-canon.tumblr.com/post/134095106043/you-had-me-at-flawless-part-6-and-that-kleine)


	7. Booby Traps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been some time since I've written a chapter, but I haven't abandoned the story by any means! Right now I have a bunch of aca-awful exams coming up, so I might not be able to post a new chapter for a while. I hope you enjoy!

**Barden University, June 2015**

 

The Toy Story films had to be based on fact. Inanimate objects must have a will of their own, somehow managing to stand perfectly still when humans were present.

At least, this was the excuse Beca was going with to explain the despicable state of her room.

Beca wrinkled her face in disgust at the plate of fossilized pizza underneath her bed. True, she had never been the tidy one in her family, but even she was horrified at the sheer amount of junk she had accumulated over the years.

She threw the slice of pizza in the overflowing garbage can, plate and all. At the rate she was going, she would have to pack until the Worlds.

Chloe knocked gently on her door. “Can I come in, Becs?”

“Sure,” she grimaced. “Watch out for the booby traps.”

“Would you like me to help you?” offered Chloe.

“No, you have your own packing up to do.”

“I’m already finished.”

“You’re finished?” repeated Beca in despair. “The prom is tomorrow, and I’m stuck here with a fossilized plate of pizza.”

“Poor Becs,” laughed Chloe. “Look, I’ll empty your bookshelves, and you sort through your clothes.”

“Thanks,” said Beca gratefully.

“Don’t mention it.” Chloe began to stack Beca’s dusty textbooks in a cardboard box, humming to herself. Beca felt herself relax at the sound of Chloe’s sweet voice.

“I can’t believe it’s all over,” said Beca, piling her jackets in an empty suitcase.

“We still have the Worlds in September,” said Chloe.

“You know what I mean,” said Beca, opening her arms wide. “The Bellas. University. It’s all over.”

“The Bellas aren’t over yet.”

“Oh, there’s no way we’re going to win.”

“You don’t know that,” objected Chloe. “We will win, and then Emily will return to Barden to recruit new Bellas. You’ll see.”

Beca smiled half-heartedly. “I wish I had your optimism.”

“You’re welcome to share mine anytime,” winked Chloe. “Do you want to keep all your notebooks? There must be a dozen here.”

“Don’t throw them away!” exclaimed Beca, snatching a journal with a fading cover out of Chloe’s hands. “I mean, yes, I want to keep them all.”

***

_January_ _13, 2011_

_My ear is killing me. And no, I don’t mean the industrial._

_Well, in a way I do mean the industrial. Dad came back home today and just saw my new piercing. I knew he wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t expect him to flip out like that._

_“How do you expect to find a job with a monstrosity like that?” he bellowed. “You wouldn’t last a second in a corporate environment looking like that!”_

_“Don’t worry, I don’t want a corporate job!” I shouted back. “I don’t want to end up being a stuffy, lying PR mouthpiece like_ you _.”_

_“Grow up, Rebecca!” he yelled, his face twisted in anger. I was afraid he’d have a heart attack or something, since he’d end up blaming me and not his high blood pressure. “You’re eighteen! You’re going to college next year! It’s time to grow up!”_

_“I already said I’m not going to college!”_

_“Oh, you are,” he said. “I’m not letting my only daughter waste her life in a DJ booth.”_

_“Being in the music industry isn’t wasting your life! Did Beethoven waste his life? Did the Beatles waste their lives?”_

_I got a little carried away after that. Now I’m grounded for the weekend. I’m eighteen, and I still get grounded. He’s simply unbearable these days. Just because his boss at work is a creep doesn’t mean he has to take it out on us at home._

_Well, he doesn’t take it out on Tammy, of course. I bet he can’t wait to send me off to college, so that he and mom can finally have some peace and quiet with their darling niece. Bet he wishes he could have traded daughters._

_A DJ booth. I don’t even want to be a DJ, I want to be a music producer. He was supportive enough when I started running the school’s radio station last year._

_And I’m not going to college, I don’t care how much he shouts. He’s wasting his own money on these college applications. He told me I’m supposed to finish my motivation essay for Barden University tonight so he can post my application this week._

_My ear is throbbing again. Yesterday my ear was bleeding when I woke up. I hope it doesn’t get infected, cartilage infections are supposed to be the worst kind. Lizzy had her cartilage cut open when her helix piercing flared up._

***

“The books are all done,” said Chloe, taping the last cardboard box shut.

“Thanks for helping me out,” said Beca gratefully.

“I am your ginger savior,” grinned Chloe. “It’s a shame we can’t stay on campus over the summer holidays, but I guess we’ll be more focused at Aubrey’s retreat.”

“Well, at least we’ll be more disciplined.” Beca sighed and pushed back her sweaty hair. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Me too, I’m sweating right through my shirt,” said Chloe. She stood up and stretched, exposing her midriff. “I hate doing housework in the heat.”

“I hate doing housework in any weather,” snorted Beca.

“I would have never guessed,” she laughed. “Don’t forget to wash behind the ears.”

“Very funny.”

“You know what to sing if you need help reaching your back,” she winked.

Beca rolled her eyes. “I have nerves of titanium, so don’t hold your breath.”

“I’m rather good at holding my breath.” She fingered Beca’s titanium piercing. “It’s cute, the way your ears turn red.”

“It’s just my industrial flaring up,” said Beca dismissively. She pulled her best friend’s hand away from her beetroot ear. “Go away.”

“I didn’t know piercings could flare up after four years.”

“Oh, they can,” nodded Beca vigorously. “They can heat up at any given second. One minute you’re cool as a cucumber, the next you can feel your pulse throbbing.”

“I like the sound of that,” gleamed Chloe. “Maybe I should get pierced somewhere. Any suggestions?”

Beca felt the blood creep up her neck against her will. Those Roman ladies who used poison to dilate their pupils should have seen Chloe's eyes.


	8. The Roaring Riff-Off Chronicles: Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not writing for so long, pesky real life got in the way. Hope you enjoy!

**Barden University, March 2015**

****

As Beca finally went to bed after a long night of singing, partying, flirting and self-depreciation, her heart was heavy with regret. She didn’t care about her throbbing ankle, nor did she regret spoiling her best clothes. She didn’t even mind the public spectacle she had caused, or the wrath of DSM which had ensued. 

No, what Beca really regretted was not taking up the Kommissar’s offer to make out.

***

Two weeks before the riff-off, Beca shivered in her chic but impractical jacket on her way home. It was an unusually cold night, and Murphy’s Law dictated that it had to be the day her car broke down. 

It will all be worth it, she reminded herself as she wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Her internship with a Grammy-award winning producer was an investment in her future, even though she spent most of her time bringing coffee and herbal tea. Today she had entrusted her remixes to Billy, her boss’ awkward, sriracha-obsessed nephew, as her boss was in Hollywood for the awards season. If she managed to impress the mighty Keagan Stephens with her music, who knew what it might lead to? 

She squinted her tired eyes – how could her eyesight still be deteriorating at twenty-two? – and checked the time. Shit, it was already half past ten. Hopefully the Bellas were wiped out from Chloe’s dance practice and already in bed, since her excuses for her weekly disappearances were becoming rather pathetic. 

Alas, she was greeted with the dismal sight of her fellow Bellas embroiled in an immature pillow fight.

“This puts back women forty years, you know.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport!” said Chloe cheerfully. “It’s great cardio.”

“Hey!” yelped Beca, shielding her head from Stacie’s ruthless pummeling. “I don’t have a pillow! I’m neutral! I’m Switzerland!”

“We should change her name to Heidi,” giggled Emily, her round face flushed.

“Why Heidi?”

“Isn’t Heidi a German name?”

“Did Heidi Klum get divorced from Sean? She’s German.”

“Heidi’s the story of that girl in a wheelchair in the Alps, that’s why.”

“Nah, that girl was Miss Rothermeyer or something.”

“Stimulating conversation as always,” winked Chloe and handed her a letter. “Check out what we got today!”

Beca peered at the glittery envelope in interest and opened the cover. An eerie sound filled their living room, accompanied by a faint light emanating from the invitation.

“What the – “ Beca peered at the elaborate cursive in confusion. “National A Cappella Laser Ninja Dragon League? Did the Treblemakers send this?”

“I thought we were being trolled, too, but this league actually exists,” piped Ashley. “Apparently, he’s an eccentric millionaire with a passion for a cappella.”

“He even sponsored The Tone Hangers’ last concert!”

“I’ll show you his website, its logo is a singing goose,” said Chloe. “He has five award-winning geese and two swans in his backyard pond.”

***

“Stand back, people,” said Pieter importantly. “This is my area of expertise.”

Luisa rolled her eyes as Pieter blew noisily in the crook of his arm. 

“Welcome, DSM! I’m so glad you could make it!” beamed Sir Sing-A-Lot, a squat, balding man in a shimmering blue suit. Pieter farted enthusiastically in response.

“You can stop now, we’re inside,” said Luisa drily. Babette giggled.

“My, aren’t you talented with body sounds!” clapped Sir Sing-A-Lot.

“You have no idea,” muttered Markus.

“It is an honor and my pleasure to welcome the European champions to my humble abode!” announced Sir Sing-A-Lot. “Tonight will exceed all of your a cappella expectations. Please, make yourselves at home! Take off your coats, shawls and tops if you fancy!”

“Pieter, he’s joking,” hissed Luisa, tugging Pieter’s hand off his shirt. 

“Follow me, please, step lively, right this way!” The bewildered DSM clan followed Sir Sing-A-Lot down a rickety staircase. “Watch your heads! Especially you, dear body-sound expert!”

“His head’s not his vital body part.”

Sir Sing-A-Lot paused theatrically at the end of the stairway. “Ready? Everyone in one piece? Well then … welcome to the underground!” With a flourish, he pushed open the glittery curtains, hopped on his scooter, and disappeared in the shimmering crowd.

For once, DSM was lost for words. 

“This is humble?” gaped Tobi. The basement was the size of a modest department store, equipped with a bar, DJ booth and dance floor. Dozens of trendy guests were milling around, drinking colorful cocktails prepared by a mixologist juggling vodka bottles. The air was thick with the heady scent of pine and mint air freshener. Luisa instinctively rubbed her nose – for a split second, she thought she was in her mother’s company car, inhaling the cheap car scent.

“The liquor’s free,” shrugged Markus. 

“Isn’t that Snoop Dogg at the bar?”

“Spread out and mingle,” said Luisa exasperatedly. “I bet there are loads of music scouts and reporters here. And go easy on the alcohol, you people are unbearable drunks.”

“Trust you to spoil a night out,” sniffed Johanna. “I’m going to flirt with that gorgeous hunk with the huge biceps.”

“I swear they’re worse than Nina,” said Luisa disapprovingly, watching her bandmates drift away. 

“Don’t worry, deep down they love you,” grinned Pieter. He flashed a dazzling smile at a passing waitress, who scowled and walked away. 

“Pieter’s still got it,” smirked Luisa.

“You’re one to talk," he retorted. "With your track record –“

“Pieter, you simply must try the food!” cut in Babette, appearing out of nowhere. “Here, have this crab puff.”

“Hello, Babette,” said Luisa, watching her stuff a pastry in Pieter’s mouth.

“Hey, Luisa,” she said breezily. “Great party, isn’t it?”

“Brilliant,” agreed Pieter, nodding vigorously.

“Oh, I think it just got even better,” giggled Babette. “The Garden Gnomes are here! This is going to be fun.”

“The Bellas are here?” repeated Luisa in surprise. “ _Wo?_ Where?”

“Right there, two o’clock!” said Babette, pointing rather indiscreetly to the left.

“That’s ten o’clock, you genius,” she huffed. 

***

“Das Sound Machine. Two o’clock.”

Beca, knowing Chloe’s impossible sense of direction, turned her head in the opposite direction. Sure enough, there was the Kommissar and her sidekick, staring at the Bellas.  
And now the duo were walking in their direction. Holy shit.

Before Beca could locate the nearest emergency exit, the two giants had cornered the Bellas.

“Tiny Mouse! We meet again!” said Kommissar, placing a hand on her leather-clad hips.

“Another verbal beat down, the highlight of my day,” chortled Pieter.

“So, have you abandoned your foolish plans to defeat us at the Worlds?”

“You wish, you gorgeous … specimen,” retorted Beca, staring at the Kommissar’s black bra. She heard Chloe draw breath next to her. _Gorgeous specimen?_

“She’s really in my head,” she muttered.

“I’ll mail you there,” glinted the Kommissar, clearly enjoying herself. “Large envelope, costs nothing.”

“Well, it would cost more than nothing,” objected Pieter. “But it would cost more to ship, say, a zombie in a sleeping bag, or an adult moose.”

“Did you ever consider you’re too big?” blurted Beca. She felt Chloe tug her away, but she was on a roll. “You’re – you’re ginormous!”

“Calm down, Becs,” said Chloe desperately.

“I’m fine!” she said, shaking off Chloe’s firm grip. “I just need, you know, taller shoes.”

***

“We should change her name to Feisty Maus,” grinned Luisa, watching the tiny Bellas scurry away.

“Yeah,” said Pieter enthusiastically. “Feisty and Ginormous. The new Laurel and Hardy.”

“Very droll.” She took a sip of her sickly sweet cocktail and shuddered. “Disgusting. Isn’t there any beer?”

“Sure there is,” chimed Anna, throwing her arm around Luisa’s shoulder. “Here, take a swig.”

“We saw you two talking with the Gnomes,” said Philipp amusedly. “Why is the troll taking off her shoes?”

“Look, she’s trying on Ginger’s heels,” chortled Johanna.

A gong sounded in the distance and Feisty Maus toppled in fright, clutching her ankle with a pained expression on her face.

“Pieter, I think she twisted her ankle,” said Luisa.

“The troll will be fine,” said Pieter dismissively. “Pull yourself together, it’s time for the Ninja Laser beam League thing!”

“National A Cappella Laser Ninja Dragon League,” corrected Luisa, but Pieter had already turned his attention to Sir Sing-a-Lot. She rolled her eyes and straightened her back, readying herself for a cappella battle. Maus or no Maus, nothing was going to distract her from the task ahead.


	9. The Roaring Riff-Off Chronicles: Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: period and blood mention.

Singing was supposed to be _fun_. A cappella was how she let off steam and forgot about her troubles. It didn’t matter if the Bellas were at the Championships or just practicing; the mere act of singing was enough to lift Beca’s spirits at any given time.

But tonight, for the first time in her life, Beca wished she was doing anything else but singing.

 _Stop staring at me,_ thought Beca frantically as Sir Sing-A-Lot introduced the Barden Bellas. She could feel the Kommissar’s eyes traveling on her body. She stared at the ceiling to avoid the German goddess’ gaze, only to be temporarily blinded by the bright spotlights.

“… And taking a break from their national tour –“

 “Taking a break from _our_ tour,” said Chloe under her breath.

“Das Sound Machine!”

“DSM!” bellowed the Kommissar, pumping her fist menacingly. Beca couldn’t help but stare at her popping biceps, threatening to burst out of her fishnet sleeves. She must live at the gym. She probably could even do push-ups on her fists.

“We _have_ to win this one,” said Cynthia-Rose. "A gift card from Dave  & Busters!"

“Let’s have the first category!” beamed Sir Sing-A-Lot. "Ooh, songs about butts!"

Beca ignored the winking Kommissar and turned to Chloe. “Pretty much anything on the radio, right?”

“Right,” said Chloe reassuringly. “Stacie got this one.”

 ***

The universe seemed determined to drive Beca up the walls in sexual frustration. Not only was she standing in full view of the Kommissar, but every single song was about sex, butts or lingerie.

“Oh, country love!” crooned Sir Sing-A-Lot.

Beca drummed her fingers on her legs as the Tone Hangers burst into a rousing rendition of ‘Live Like You Were Dying’. Whatever she did, she had to stop thinking about the Kommissar in a thong.

***

Despite herself, Luisa was impressed by Beca’s saucy take on a sappy country song. Feisty Maus, indeed.

“ _I dated John Meyer_ after _Country Love_?” scoffed Pieter. “Are all American riff-offs this cheesy?”

Luisa ignored him and began to snap her fingers, indicating to her bandmates to start singing. Relishing Feisty’s gaze on her face, she waved in her direction as Johanna sauntered forward to sing.

“ _Make my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I’m homebound …”_

“ _We are never, ever, ever getting back together!_ ” sang Ginger in response. Luisa watched her swish her shiny hair back as she led the Bellas. She was a confident singer, noted Luisa, who seemed to command everyone’s attention. Even Maus, who had been watching Luisa dance, had thrown herself into the song and was mimicking Auburn’s gestures.

“ _Wieso Tina Turner_?” said Babette, as the dorkiest Tone Hanger sang ‘ _What’s love got to do with it?’_ at the top of his lungs.

“Boo!” hollered Luisa and Pieter, as Sir Sing-A-Lot rang the gong.

“We have our final two!” he yelled enthusiastically. “We have a showdown! Alright, come on in! Let’s do this face-off style.”

Smirking profusely, Luisa led her colleagues decked in their impeccable outfits to face the group of haphazardly dressed, _kindisch_ Bellas. She felt almost sorry, really, for Feisty and her little playmates. They should have stayed home and read each other bedtime stories.

“90’s Hip Hop Jamz!” screeched Anna in delight.

“Okay, have a moment to think about it,” said Sir Sing-A-Lot and paused theatrically. “Time’s up! Go!”

Luisa bopped her head to the beat as Philipp started to beatbox..“ _This is how we do it!_ ” sang Pieter, showering the Bellas with his spittle.

“ _I’m kinda buzzed, and it’s all because_ –“

“ _This is how we do it!_ ”

“ _South Central does it like nobody does!_ ” she crooned, swaying her hips to the music. Oh, the way Feisty was staring at her was simply too adorable.

“ _Girls, you know you better watch out_ ,” retorted the Bella with short hair, jumping right in front of Luisa. “ _Some guys are only about that thing –“_

“ _That girl is poison_ ,” interrupted Pieter, crouching low to make eye contact with Blondie. “ _Never trust a big butt and a smile, that girl is poison!”_

Blondie opened her eyes wide in anger. “ _Here we go yo, so what’s the scenario_?” she belted in Pieter’s face. “ _Here we go –_ “

“ _Insane in the membrane_!” bellowed Pieter.

“ _I got all I need when I got you and I_ ,” blurted a squeaky voice. Luisa stared at the wide eyed, baby Bella singing an unfamiliar song. Was she singing an _original_ _at a riff-off_?

“Is that an _original_?” asked Sir Sing-A-Lot in horror.

“Yes," whispered Baby. "It’s an original.”

Sounds of protest erupted from the crowd as Sir Sing-A-Lot turned to face DSM.

“In light of this embarrassing and unprofessional information, I am forced to declare…”

Luisa puffed her chest as the Bellas whined in protest.

“Das Sound Machine is the winner!”

“Yes!” she cheered, raising her hands in the air.

Pieter gave her a high-five and snatched the gift card out of the host’s hands. “Oho!” he yelled, waving the card in the Bellas’ face.

Luisa snapped her fingers and Pieter belted out their victory song.

“DSM will make you jump, jump!” he yelled, his voice hoarse.

“ _Kommissar will make you!”_ hollered Luisa, pointing at herself.

“ _Jump, jump!”_ finished her bandmates.

_“Deutschland will make you –“_

“ _Jump, jump!”_

Her shoes weren’t ideal for all this jumping, but Luisa wouldn’t have stopped dancing if she were standing on glass shards. DSM, her pride and joy, the culmination of her life’s work, had just won their first American riff-off, and nothing would stop her from celebrating the whole night.

***

Beca rubbed her ankle, trying to hide her disappointment from the Bellas.

“Great job, Emily!” huffed Chloe. “Now DSM thinks they have the _drop_ on us!”

“Hey,” said Beca, placing a protective hand on Emily’s shoulder. “It was her first riff-off.”

“Well, none of us sang an original at _our_ first riff-off,” said Chloe sourly.

“I’m sorry,” said Emily sadly, watching Chloe walk away. “I just … I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.”

Beca winced as DSM hollered _‘Jump, Jump!’_ for the umpteenth time. “It’s alright, Legacy. You just need experience.”

Emily jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Am I disturbing anything?” asked Benjy hesitantly.

“Course not,” said Beca, suppressing a smile. “I think I’ll get a drink. See you later.”

***

This night was surely destined to go down into history as the Night of the Promiscuous.

Luisa chinked beers with Elif as she eyed Pieter dance suggestively with Babette. His jelled black hair was shimmering with sweat, and Babette’s tight crop top was plastered to her skin.

“Who would’ve known?” said Elif conversationally, following Luisa’s gaze.

“Not me,” said Luisa. “She’s not even Pieter’s type.”

“I don’t see how she _couldn’t_ be anyone’s type,” glinted Elif. “She has the longest legs and silkiest hair I’ve ever seen.”

Luisa rolled her eyes. “So she’s attractive. She’s _still_ not Pieter’s type – _nein._ ”

Elif’s jaw dropped open as the duo started to make out hungrily. “Wow.”

Luisa glared at her. “You’re drooling on the floor.”

“D’you think they’re actually breathing?” marveled Elif, standing on her toes to get a better look.

Luisa swiveled on her barstool. “You’re pathetic.”

“I don’t care,” said Elif, tugging her arm. “Look, they’re going up the stairs. Oh, they’re going to have a quickie right in the middle of a party.”

Luisa choked mid-gulp. _“Hör auf!_ Stop it!” she spluttered. “I never knew you had such a dirty mind.”

“Well, I’ve never had much use of it so far,” said Elif, watching the intoxicated pair disappear behind the curtains. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“What’s going to be fun?” asked a burly Green Bay Packer, flashing Elif a blinding white smile.

“Who knows?" said Elif, throwing back her hair. "The night is young.”

“The night is young and the liquor’s free,” he winked. 

“Don’t drink the pink cocktail, it’s disgusting.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” The Packer extended his huge hand. “Want to dance?”

“Sure,” beamed Elif and hopped off her barstool. “ _Bis später, Luisa_.”

“ _Mit ihm?_ Him?” she said disbelievingly, but Elif ignored her and bounced off to the dance floor.

Luisa sighed audibly and drained her weak beer. The party was quickly turning into an orgy. She peered suspiciously in her glass; the drinks _had_ to be spiked with pheromones. Pieter was upstairs with Babette, doing – she shuddered – _something_ , Elif was flirting with a Green Bay Packer, Anna was at the DJ booth with one of the Treblemakers, and – was that _Johanna_ glued to Ginger on the plushy couch?

She needed hard liquor to get through the night, and she needed it now.

***

Hell must have frozen over.

Beca gaped rather unattractively as Chloe snuggled up to the wiry, black-haired DSM member. Chloe Beale, the same person who spent a whole evening throwing darts at DSM's photo, was _fraternizing with the enemy_.

She stifled a giggle and twirled the pink umbrella in her drink. To be fair, everyone seemed to be fond of DSM. Jesse and the Treblemakers had taken over the DJ booth, and the DSM singer with short blonde hair had joined them.

Beca, on the other hand, wasn’t fond of DSM at all. No, she was just intoxicated with one of them. But _fond_? No, not at all.

“Can I have some more chips?” she said, handing the empty bowl to the bartender.

“You can have mine,” said a deep voice behind her.

Beca swirled around to face the Kommissar in all her flawless glory.

“There you go.” She pushed her a full bowl, a small smirk playing on her red lips.

Beca stared at the long fingers grasping the bowl. She wondered how many coats of varnish were on those nails.

“I haven’t spiked it with poison, Maus."

“Sure you haven’t,” said Beca hurriedly, stuffing a fistful of chips in her mouth.

The Kommissar’s eyes crinkled as she watched Beca chew. “Hungry Maus.”

“Not really,” said Beca, showering the Kommissar with crumbs. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she said amusedly, dusting off her leather pants.

Beca took a deep gulp of her drink to hide her embarrassment, only to poke herself in the eye with the cocktail umbrella. “Ouch!” she yelped and dropped her glass. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces on the marble counter, drenching her and the Kommissar in vodka and orange juice.

“Oh, shit,” she moaned, jumping off her stool. “Oh, I can’t believe what I’m doing, I’m sorry, are you all wet?”

A chuckle escaped the Kommissar’s lips as she reached for the pile of napkins. “I’m not too wet yet, Maus.”

Had she actually asked the Kommissar if she was _wet?_ As in … oh, this was not going well.

“Good, I’m glad. I mean, I’m sorry,” she babbled, hopping on her good ankle. “I mean, I think I’ll wash my hands.”

“Ah, Maus –“

“No, really, see you later –“

“Maus.” The Kommissar held her by the arm. “You might want to, ah, freshen up.”

“Is my make-up smudged? I mean, with all this dancing I did get rather sweaty –“

“Your make-up’s fine. Well, as fine as it can be,” she grinned. “Your barstool.”

“My _barstool_?” repeated Beca. “What do you mean – oh _shit._ ”

“It happens, Maus,” said the Kommissar, loosening her grip. “Do you have tampons with you?”

Beca nodded, averting her eyes from her mess. “Thanks.”

“Alright then.” The Kommissar patted her arm gently. “Go and freshen up, little troll.”

***

Poor Maus. Poor blushing, flustered, adorable Maus.

“Can you hand me a rag?” she asked the bartender. "Thanks.”

“Why are you wiping that barstool?” asked Tobi, reaching for the bowl of trail mix.

“Mind your own business,” snapped Luisa. “I thought you were busy snogging that Tone Hanger.”

“ _You_ mind your own business,” said Tobi snootily. “Hey, you have the gift card, right?”

Luisa furrowed her brow. “No. Why?”

“ _Was?”_ Tobi opened his eyes wide. “But Anna said Pieter gave it to her, who gave it to Philipp, who gave it back to Pieter, who left it on the bar for you.”

“He did no such thing,” objected Luisa, straightening her back. “If he had come up for air for a second, he could remember who he gave it.”

“Come up for air from what?” he asked curiously.

“Never mind. Does this mean the gift card is _lost_?” 

“ _Scheiße,”_ breathed Tobi, pushing back his wonky glasses. “I think it does.”

Luisa threw the bloody rag on the floor. Thanks to Pieter and his insatiable thirst, their prize worth tens of thousands of dollars was fucking _lost_.

“Oh, just wait until I get my hands on Lover Boy,” muttered Luisa, feeling her temper rise. “Just wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who may be following this story: you're a saint for putting up with my late updates, and I have a lot of material in my head, I promise. I just need to write, well, faster. 
> 
> Wieso: why  
> Das wird lustig: this will be fun  
> Geschafft: made it  
> Ich nicht: not me  
> Nein: no  
> Bis später: see you later  
> Mit ihm: with him  
> Was: what


	10. The Roaring Riff-Off Chronicles: Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be late, but at least it's long. (That was eloquent.)

She’d need a compass to find her way in this mansion.

“Excuse me,” said Luisa, tapping a waiter on the shoulder. “Have you seen two tall people snogging each other?”

“Sorry,” shrugged the waiter. “The party’s downstairs.”

“Did anyone check the bedrooms?” she asked, but he ignored her and went to the kitchen.

Luisa pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. The place had started to smell worse than Pieter’s dirty laundry. She needed some fresh air.

As she placed her hand on the glass doorknob, the doorbell rang loudly.

“We’re guests!” sounded a muffled voice behind the door.

A very familiar, goofy voice.

Luisa slid the peephole open and squinted her eyes. “What’s the secret password?”

“Luisa?” exclaimed Pieter, his beady eyes meeting hers. “ _Was machst du hier?”_

“Make that fart noise again,” chimed Babette’s voice. 

“Oh, get inside,” said Luisa irritably. “Pieter, stop blowing into the crease of you arm.”

“You’re in a fine mood,” said Babette, stepping inside. “What happened?”

“Ask Lover Boy,” spat Luisa. “ _Steh auf, Pieter.”_

“Lover Boy?” grinned Pieter, tracing a finger down Babette’s spine.

Luisa shuddered as she eyed the traces of red lipstick on Pieter’s neck. “Where’s the gift card?”

Pieter paused. “I gave it to Anna.”

“ _Ja,_ and Anna gave it to Philipp, who gave it back to you. Where is it?”

“Oh right,” said Pieter. “I left it next to your drink. Don’t you have it?”

“No, you didn’t,” said Luisa impatiently. “Does this mean you’ve _lost_ our prize?”

“It seems like _you’ve_ lost it,” said Pieter breezily. “Later.”

***

Why did the bathroom smell like chlorine?

“Hey!” A grumpy waiter tapped her on the shoulder. “The indoor pool is off-limits.”

The _pool?_

“Sorry,” said Beca, rubbing her nose. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

“Bathroom’s over there,” pointed the waiter. “Where those two giggling girls are standing.”

Beca peered down the dimmed hallway. “Flo? Stacie?”

Stacie’s golden head snapped up at her voice. “Becs! C’mere!”

Beca hobbled down to her fellow Bellas, who were doubled up in laughter.

“You are not going to believe what happened,” gasped Stacie.

“Chloe’s going to love us,” laughed Flo.

“Did you put itching powder in someone’s pants again?” asked Beca warily.

Flo shook her dark curls. “I ran out last week.”

“Get inside,” said Stacie, pushing Beca into the bathroom. “Your pants look awful, by the way.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Show her, Flo,” glinted Stacie.

Grinning widely, Flo stuck her hand in her front pocket and whipped out something shiny.

“Is that DSM’s gift card?” gasped Beca in horror.

“The one and only!” cackled Stacie, her laughter ringing in the tiny bathroom.

“I think it’s gold plaited,” said Flo.

Beca gingerly took the shimmery card, staring at the letters ‘D&B’ plastered in blue.

“The Kommissar’s sidekick left it at the bar,” chortled Stacie. “Then the leggy one with shiny hair came over and they started to dance.”

“It was too easy,” said Flo modestly. “I didn’t even have to fake a heart attack.”

A gong sounded in the distance, followed by the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd.

“It’s Twister time!” bellowed Sir Sing-A-Lot.

“I hope the Kommissar’s playing,” said Stacie, hurriedly checking her appearance in the mirror. “Later, Becs! Good thing I’m wearing my lucky bra tonight.”

Stacie shut the door with a bang, leaving a dumbfounded Beca alone with the shiny card clutched in her hand.

***

To say that this party was a disaster-in-progress would be the understatement of the century.

Perched awkwardly on an uncomfortable barstool, Beca took a surreptitious sip of her lurid pink cocktail. The trick is to remain calm, she reminded herself. The gift card was tucked away safely in the breast pocket of her blouse, a place which nobody would ever touch. As soon as she saw Sir Sing-A-Lot, she would discreetly hand him the gift card and disappear before he could ask any questions.

She skimmed the dancing people for the host, a task easier said than done, considering her diminutive frame. Her eye caught a rather familiar blond topknot towering well over the crowd.

“This isn’t a _library_!” said an annoyed voice, followed by a shrill ringing. Beca caught a glimpse of Sir Sing-A-Lot next to the Kommissar as he drove away on his scooter.

“Sir Sing-A-Lot!” she yelled, jumping to her feet. “Sir Sing-A-Lot! If I could just have a word –“

“In a hurry, _kleine Maus?”_ asked the Kommissar.

“Not really,” mumbled Beca, averting her gaze. She was certain that guilt was written all over her face.

“You’d better wait before you speak to him,” she said. “He’s pissed off with me right now.”

“Pissed off? Why?"

The Kommissar sucked in her cheeks, which only amplified her prominent cheekbones. “DSM lost its prize, and I just asked him if he had seen it, or if anyone had left it in the Lost-and-Found box. Apparently you Americans don’t have those at parties.”

Beca felt her breast pocket grow red-hot as her heart thumped against the card. “I have no idea where the card could be.”

“Finding a card that size in this mansion is like finding a needle in a haystack," she snorted. "We’re not going to find it.”

“It could be anywhere,” said Beca, twisting her fingers. “This place’s huge, there’s even a pool. No point looking for it the whole evening.”

“Smart Maus,” she grinned. “Maus?”

“Yes?”

The Kommissar leaned in conspiratorially. “I have no idea what D&B’s is.”

“No!”

“ _Oh, ja,”_ said the Kommissar, clearly enjoying Beca’s reaction. “I even asked Sir Sing-A-Lot if we could just cash in the card and split the money. I don’t think he’s fond of me.”

“I doubt that,” said Beca, twirling the paper umbrella in her drink.

The Kommissar’s gaze rested on Beca’s slim fingers. “Surely you’re not drinking that? It tastes horrible.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” said Beca, scrunching her nose. “But I like the umbrellas.”

“Well, they _are_ the perfect size for you,.”

“Hey, if _I_ wore zillion-inch heels, _I_ would look huge, too,” said Beca indignantly.

“You didn’t look much taller in Ginger’s shoes,” she said amusedly.

“Ginger? Oh, you mean Chloe!” exclaimed Beca. “You saw that?”

“Mmm.” The Kommissar reached for a beer bottle. “But you don’t need heels. Being diminutive suits you.”

Beca felt her cheeks burn for the umpteenth time. “I never know if you’re complimenting or insulting me, you know.”

The Kommissar’s deep-blue eyes glinted. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out someday, _kleine Maus.”_

Not quite knowing how to reply, Beca swiveled on her seat. They sat in silence for a few minutes, perusing the Twister game unfolding in the distance.

“I’ve never seen R-rated Twister before,” said Beca in wonderment. “Did your friend just put his hand in –“

“ _Eklig,”_ muttered the Kommissar. Sensing her disapproval, Beca said nothing and loudly sucked on her syrupy cocktail. It really did taste horrible.

“I’d go slow on the drinks, little troll,” said the Kommissar. “I think they’re spiked.”

Beca choked. “ _Spiked_?” she spluttered.

The Kommissar thumped her on the back as Beca wheezed. “Spiked with a love potion, _Mäuschen_. I was joking.”

“Oh.” Beca wiped her eyes, acutely aware of the Kommissar’s warm hand lingering on her back. “I guess. There couldn’t be another explanation for Chloe hooking up with one of you.”

“One of _us_? Do you find us so repulsive, little troll?”

Do not blurt another ridiculous compliment. Do not –

“Repulsively _gorgeous_ ,” she said haughtily. That would show her.

The Kommissar let out a throaty laugh. “Your unabashed compliments are becoming one of my life pleasures, Maus.”

“I’m glad,” said Beca dazedly, as the Kommissar _– the_ _Kommissar!_ – draped her arm around her shoulders.

“Seems like the potion works on everyone but us,” she remarked.

“I doubt you need anything to get lucky."

“Don’t I?” She raised her eyebrows. “Want to make out?”

Beca stuck her pinky in her ear. She must have misunderstood her. Surely she hadn’t just asked her –

“See?” The Kommissar unwound her arm. “I could’ve used a love potion myself.”

She _had_ asked her. Shit.

No, scratch that. She wasn’t dismayed that she hadn’t kissed the Kommissar. Jesse is here, she muttered to herself. He was right there, manning the DJ booth.

“Who is Jesse? Do you have a boyfriend?” asked the Kommissar in surprise.

“He’s a friend who’s a boy,” said Beca lightly. “Well, he’s twenty-two, so he’s a man. So he’s a friend who’s a man. Pieter, for example, would be your friend who is a man.”

The Kommissar opened her mouth to say something, but Beca was on a roll.

“I think I’ll go find my friend who happens to be a man.” She downed her drink, pocketed the umbrella and stood up. “Enjoy the party and I hope you find the gift card – ouch!”

“What’s wrong?” asked the Kommissar in concern. “Did you lose your balance?”

“My ankle,” gasped Beca. “It hurts a lot. I can’t really walk.”

“I should change your name to Injured Maus.” She wrapped her arm tightly around Beca’s waist. “Ginger’s shoes?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” groaned Beca. 

“Immensely. You need ice, Injured.”

“I am not sticking my foot in a bucket of ice at a riff-off,” said Beca in horror. “I’ll wait – until I’m home. Ouch.”

The Kommissar shook her head. “You’ll regret it later. Ice, or cold water –“ She paused mid-sentence. “Maus?”

“Yes?”

She flashed her a mischievous grin.  “Care for a dip?”

***

She should have listened to Stacie. One should always bring a swimsuit to a riff-off.

“Take off your shoes, _Mäuschen,_ ” said the Kommissar, pulling up a plastic chair.

“I think I’d prefer the bucket of ice,” said Beca warily.

“Too late,” she smirked. “Go on, or I’ll push you in the pool.”

Beca hastily bent over to pull off her shoes, not willing to find out if she was serious. Her boots left mud streaks on the tiled floor as she set them aside. She dearly hoped Sir Sing-A-Lot didn’t have secret cameras installed around the place.

“Nice socks,” she remarked.

“They’re meant to be ironic,” said Beca, wiggling her feet clad in Garfield socks. “It’s a critique of our… inner child.”

The Kommissar nodded appreciatively. “That’s deep. Philosophical Maus.”

“Very philosophical,” agreed Beca, doubling over to tug off her socks. “Tabula rasa and empirical thinking and – oh, _fuck_.”

The gift card, light in weight but heavy in value, slithered out of her breast pocket and fell into the murky pool with a splash.

“What the – _ist das unsere Karte?_ “ The Kommissar jumped out of her seat and kneeled to the edge of the pool. “Du _hattest unseren Preis!”_

Beca flinched as the Kommissar stared at her in disbelief. “ _You_ stole our gift card?”

“It’s not how it looks,” babbled Beca, groping at the card floating merrily along the pool. “D’you think it’s waterproof?”

The Kommissar stood up slowly and shook her head. “You surprise me, Tiny Maus.”

“I was going to give it back,” said Beca hurriedly. “Seriously, it wasn’t my fault –“

“I’m impressed.”

“Eh?” Beca turned around in bewilderment.

“I’m impressed,” repeated the Kommissar, a smile playing on her lips. “Feisty Maus, indeed.”

Beca’s hand froze mid-air. “Does this mean I’m off the hook?”

The Kommissar’s silvery laugh echoed in the damp pool. “Not yet, but you can repay me later.”

“So _there_ you are!” A fuming Pieter barged inside, followed by the same striking DSM member from Twister. “ _Ich suche dich seit einer halben Stunde! Was um Gottes Willen –“_

“ _Unsere Karte!”_ exclaimed the woman next to Pieter. “ _Pieter, guck mal, im Schwimmbad!“_

“I can explain!” blurted Beca, raising her hands in the air. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“ _She_ had our card the whole time?” asked Pieter incredulously. “ _Luisa?”_

The Kommissar threw Pieter a dirty look and helped Beca stand up.

Pieter stuck his head out the door. “Sir Sing-A-Lot! Luisa’s here! I found her!”

“The pool’s off-limits!” yelled an indignant voice in the distance.

“Why are your socks off, Troll?” asked Pieter, staring at her feet in disgust. “Do you get undressed at every riff-off?”

“Shut up, Pieter,” said the Kommissar – Luisa - exasperatedly. “Forgot the time you went skinny dipping at a party in Merzhausen?”

“ _Did_ you?” asked the woman interestedly.

“Becs!” Stacie, Flo and Lilly stumbled inside, half-drunk.

“D’you still have the card?” asked Stacie brightly.

“So!” Pieter inhaled sharply. “You all planned this witty theft, did you?”

“Well, you should’ve taken better care of your gift!”

“We could _sue_ you little kids’ ass!”

“I lived three months in a courthouse,” piped up Lilly. “There are secret tunnels to the judge’s room.”

“Oh, like Hogwarts?”

“Like a haunted house.”

“We need to search for trapdoors in our house again. That mouse hole must have been a decoy.”

The Kommissar threw Beca an incredulous look. “Are they serious, Tiny Maus?” she shouted, her voice barely audible over the growing chatter.

“Trust me, this is nothing,” said Beca loudly, tugging on her socks. “Compared to the Bellas’ typical night out, this party is boring.”

***

 “I can’t believe Beca and Stacie got the Bellas banned for life,” said Chloe bitterly as she unlocked the door to the Bellas’ residence.

“Look, it’s just a silly annual riff-off,” said Beca, switching on the lights. Stacie groaned and shielded her eyes.

 “A silly riff-off worth thousands of dollars,” said Jessica mournfully.

“Can we just go to bed?” said Emily, rubbing her eyes. “We can talk about tonight later.”

“I second that,” sighed Ashley.

“Well, we definitely have a lot to talk about,” said Amy, raising her eyebrows. “Like, what the _fuck_ was Beca doing barefoot with the devil?”

“I hurt my ankle on Chloe’s shoes,” said Beca defensively. “Luisa just told me to stick it in cold water.”

“It’s _Luisa_ now?” said Cynthia-Rose.

“Hey, _I_ wasn’t the one cuddling up to that wiry little DSM singer,” objected Beca, eager to distract the Bellas from her and _Luisa._

She had such a delicate name.

***

“Sure you haven’t lost the gift card again, Luisa?” said Johanna in mock concern.

“ _Verpiss dich,”_ said Luisa sourly as she trudged up the stairs to her hotel room.

“Were you having fun _mingling_ with music scouts in the pool?” asked Philipp, eyes open wide.

She ignored the cackling duo and swiped her room card.

 “Set out the mouse traps in case the little troll wanders in – “

Luisa shut the door with a bang, taking her anger out of the unlucky hotel guests in adjacent rooms. She kicked off her boots, still damp with chlorine. Pieter had wandered off with Babette after the party, and chances were he’d spend the night in her room.

Fine. She missed the solitude of being alone, anyway.

She rubbed off her make-up. A lackluster, tired face spattered with spider veins stared back at her in the mirror. Then again, nobody looked their best at four a.m.

She wondered if Beca lived with her boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was machst du hier?: What are you doing here?  
> Steh auf: Stand up  
> Eklig: Disgusting  
> Mäuschen: little mouse  
> Ist das unsere Karte?: Is that our card?  
> Du hattest unseren Preis: You had our prize  
> Ich suche dich seit einer halben Stunde: I've been looking for you for half an hour  
> Guck mal, im Schwimmbad: Look, in the pool  
> Verpiss dich: Fuck off


	11. Four Slushies and a Latte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a filler chapter for some background, but I hope you still enjoy it! Becommissar scenes are coming up in the next chapters!

**December, 2014**

“Drive faster,” whined Beca, squirming in her seat.

“We’re nearly there,” laughed Jesse. “Miss home that much?”

“You have no idea,” she grimaced. “I can’t wait to be reunited with the bathroom.”

Jesse playfully poked Beca in the tummy. “Told you not to drink that last Slushy.”

“Stop that!” she squealed, slapping Jesse’s hand away. “Faster, I can see the porch.”

Before Jesse could pull through the driveway, Beca threw herself out Jesse’s rickety station wagon and barged through the front door. 

“Beca?” called a surprised voice from the kitchen. 

“Can’t talk now!” yelled Beca and wrenched the bathroom door open. 

“What the –” A young woman with dark curls looked up, toothbrush in mouth. “Beca!”

“Tammy!” Beca gave her cousin a quick hug before shoving her outside. “Gotta go.”

“Hey!” she babbled and pounded on the door, giggling. “I’m foaming here!”

A tall, imposing man with wired glasses stepped out the kitchen. “Jesse!” exclaimed her father, clapping Jesse's shoulder. “Three Slushies, I presume?”

“Four,” he grinned. “Nice look, Tammy.”

Beca came out, visibly relaxed. “Hi, Dad.”

“Welcome back,” he said, giving her a hug. “You two are just on time, the pot roast is nearly done.”

***

If someone had told Beca at eighteen that she would actually look forward to visiting home, she would have never believed them in a million years. And yet here she was, willingly home for Christmas with her boyfriend, who deserved a place in the Guinness book of records for getting along with her father.

“Not long until graduation now!” said Tammy, passing Beca a generous slice of apple pie. Her biceps, remnants of an early gymnastics career, bulged as she heaved the heavy pot of coffee. If someone had told Beca at eighteen she would someday like her cousin, she would have told them to check into the nearest clinic.

“Who would have thought?” quipped her father.

“Not me,” admitted Beca. “I thought I would be touring the country as a DJ by twenty-two.”

“Thank heavens _that’s_ over.”

“With Becs you never know,” grinned Jesse. 

“For your information, I’m interning for one of the country’s most famous music producers,” said Beca airily.

“Have you planned what you’ll be wearing to your first Grammy awards?” asked Tammy brightly.

“Very funny.”

“Speaking of high-flying careers, your mother called,” interjected her father. “She said she was available for a video call today.”

“What time is it in Germany again?” asked Tammy.

“They’re seven hours ahead, aren’t they?”

Beca glanced at her watch. “We’d better call her, then, it’s already half past two.”

“Use my laptop,” offered Jesse, fishing out his Mac. 

“Apple man,” said her father proudly, and thumped Jesse on the back. “This one’s a keeper, Beca.”

“Don’t say stuff like that, he’s unbearable already,” groaned Beca.

“Must be exciting days at Apple,” said Jesse enthusiastically. “The marketing department must be working hard for the launch of the new iPhone.”

“Stop sucking up, Jesse – hey, Mom!” Beca waved at the grainy image of her mother on the screen. 

“Hi, everyone!” she said, her voice gravelly. “You caught me at Starbucks.”

“You homesick, Aunt Anita?” laughed Tammy.

“Definitely not,” she said, shaking her hoop earrings. “How was your trip home, Beca?”

“Not fast enough. How’s work?”

“Great,” she nodded. “The automotive sector is booming. How’s _uni_?”

She had to use the German pronunciation. “Just dandy. Hey, have you ever heard of a German group called Das Sound Machine?”

“ _DSM? Ja, natürlich!_ I’ve even seen them live. Why?”

Beca noticed her father roll his eyes as her mother chattered in German. “I’ll tell you later.”

***

Luisa walked past a petite woman with large earrings and passed Veronika a coffee.

_“Danke.”_

_“Bitte.”_

She shrugged off her coat. _“Zucker?”_

“I don’t use sugar.”

She raised her eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“Been trying to lose weight.” Veronika eyed Luisa critically. “You’ve lost a few pounds.”

“I’m fine.”

Silence. Luisa spooned the frothy milk off her drink.

“Visited Nina already?”

Luisa cracked a smile. “We took her to the nature museum today.”

“We?” repeated Veronika. “Anton hates museums.”

“Not with my father,” snorted Luisa. “Pieter came along.”

_“Ach so.”_

“Nina did say they visited the science museum last month, though.” Luisa shrugged. “Guess he’s having more fun the second time round.”

Veronika smoothed her bangs.

“New haircut,” remarked Luisa, eyeing her mother’s platinum-blond bob.

“Well, we haven’t seen each other for six months. Ironic that we end up meeting here, and not in Berlin.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I’ve heard. Off to the U.S. next year, aren’t you?”

Luisa blinked, surprised. “You’ve heard about it?”

Veronika nodded, her thin lips pursed. “My dear girl, you’re performing at our showroom.”

 _“Ach so.”_ Luisa took a cautious sip of her boiling hot latte – why her mother always insisted on drinking Starbucks’ dishwater coffee, she would never understand. “Didn’t think you’d hear about it at the headquarters.”

“Are you kidding?” exclaimed Veronika. “Legal has been dealing with the opening of new showrooms in North America for six months. On top of that, we’ve had a recent crisis in Brussels regarding the new tax regulations –“

Luisa’s eyes glazed over as she plunged into an extensive diabrite on the European tax commissioner, a new factory in Stuttgart, gas emissions and liability of half a dozen words she didn’t understand. For a lawyer once described in _die süddeutsche Zeitung_ as having ‘the ability to find a loophole in the laws of physics’, she was surprisingly inept at noticing her daughter’s disinterest in her work.

“… but I won’t bore you with the details,” she finished fifteen minutes later, waving a hand dismissively. “All I can say is, I wish I had _your_ job.”

Luisa’s head snapped up. _“Was?”_

“You know what I mean,” said Veronika lightly. “Singing and dancing.”

“You think that’s what I do?” asked Luisa in disbelief.

For once, Veronika appeared at a loss for words. “ _Na ja_ … you do sing and dance for a living.”

“Do you have any idea how many weeks it takes to just _choreograph_ a two-minute sequence, let alone rehearse it?” demanded Luisa, feeling her temper rise. “Do you know how long it takes Pieter to write out the music? How much editing, revising, fine-tuning we do? Do you know how much we train every day? Do you know how _hard_ it is to find sponsors, venues, lodgings for two dozen people? Do you just think we just – I don’t know – _wing it_ on the stage?”

“I – I didn’t mean it like that,” objected Veronika. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“I know how you meant it,” said Luisa, lowering her voice. 

Silence. Luisa drained her coffee.

“I should get going.” She stuffed her unused napkins in her paper cup.

“Alright.” Veronika stood up, her slim frame decked in an understated navy dress. “Give my best to Pieter.”

“I will.” They hugged briefly. Luisa doubted her mother needed to lose any weight, but it wasn’t any of her business.

“How long are you in Frankfurt?”

“We’re taking an early train on the 2nd back home.”

Veronika nodded. “I’m here at Georg’s place until the 3rd. We’ll talk.”

Luisa hoisted her satchel. “ _Bis später._ My best to Georg.”

As she rushed outside, she thought she heard the same woman mention DSM. The fact that she didn’t linger to eavesdrop was testament to how much she wanted to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Beca's mother is of German descent came from an anon on my Tumblr! So if you're reading, anon, credit to you. 
> 
> Ja, natürlich: yes, of course  
> Danke, bitte: thank you, you’re welcome  
> Zucker: sugar  
> Die süddeutsche Zeitung: a german newspaper  
> Na ja: well  
> Bis später: see you later


	12. Luisa Meets Her Match

**Lodge at Fallen Leaves, April 2015**

Beca inhaled deeply. It was a beautiful, crisp spring night, the cloudless sky shimmering with stars. She propped herself on her elbows and watched the campfire crackle merrily, listening to the leaves rustle gently in the breeze. She could hear her heart beating in the absolute stillness. It was as if time had paused momentarily, leaving Beca alone with nothing but her swirling thoughts to accompany her.

She closed her eyes. Sometimes she could _feel_ her thoughts weighing her down, as if her head were filled to the brim with a thick, sluggish liquid, threatening to spill over and ruin everything around her. That was a luxury she could not afford, for nowadays she had too many people demanding her full attention. The Bellas. The Barden Bellas Alumni Association. Chloe. Emily. Her father. Her boss. Jesse. Her musicology professor. That job scout on campus, who had called her in for a preliminary interview. The Kommissar.  


Beca kneaded her forehead. No matter what she thought about, she somehow ended up with the Kommissar’s – Luisa’s – face flashing in front of her eyes. 

Her sexuality.

Stop it. That should be the least of her problems.  


“Ouch.”

Beca opened her eyes to be greeted with the sight of a wincing Aubrey, sucking her thumb.

“Stray spark,” she said, ripping a bag of marshmallows open. “In the mood for a midnight feast?”

“Sure.”

Aubrey speared three marshmallows and passed the stick to Beca. _“Bon appétit.”_

Beca watched the flames engulf the gooey sweets. “Couldn’t sleep, either?”

“I’m on patrol duty,” explained Aubrey. “You have no idea how careless people are with campfires.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put out the fire in a minute.”

“There’s no rush,” smiled Aubrey. “I’ll keep you company.”

Beca blew on her charred marshmallows. “You seem really happy with your work here.”

“I am,” said Aubrey, without hesitation. “It’s a great job. I get to train and coach people in this beautiful setting, and get paid for it. It’s better than anything I had imagined at college.”

“Wow.” Beca gave her a lopsided grin. “Then maybe there’s still hope for me.”

Aubrey raised her eyebrows and fed the dimming fire a stack of fresh branches, indicating that she had time to listen.

“I’m just feeling really overwhelmed,” said Beca, hugging her knees. “I feel like I’m being pulled in all sorts of directions, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

“Who said that you need to?” inquired Aubrey.

Beca sighed. “You know what I mean. Then I end up feeling guilty, because I try to make everything work. And then … I snap. At people I don’t mean to snap.”

Aubrey nodded. “If you’re talking about the Bellas, I know exactly how you feel.”

“Really?” said Beca, surprised.

“I know how it feels to be responsible for a bunch of random, wacky girls,” said Aubrey, a distant smile playing on her lips. “I know how stressful it can get, what with the endless rivalries and riff-offs and championships. Or have you forgotten the year you joined the Bellas? I was a _nightmare._ ”

Beca laughed. “You weren’t a nightmare. More like night tremor.”

“Very funny,” grinned Aubrey. “What I’m saying is, don’t be too hard on yourself. Tempers are running high right now. Chloe will calm down. You’re doing your best.”

“That’s the thing, though – am I _really_ doing my best?” Beca exhaled. “I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but I don’t think I care about the Bellas as much as … I should.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a required minimum,” said Aubrey mildly.

“Ha, ha. I mean, it’s not exactly my number one priority,” admitted Beca. “I have half a dozen things going on, school is awful enough on its own –“

“It _shouldn’t_ be your number one priority,” cut in Aubrey.

Beca paused mid-sentence. “Huh?”

“It shouldn’t be your number one priority,” she repeated. She stood up and brushed dirt off her beige slacks. “I’m not saying the Bellas aren’t important, but a cappella is not real life. It should never take precedence to your work, or your grades, or your future. I mean, look at Chloe!” She shook her head irritably. “I love her dearly, but she needs a reality check. She’s graduating _three years_ later than me. How she plans on finding a job with that on her resume, I have no idea.”

“I hope Chloe won’t flunk Russian lit again,” frowned Beca. “Once the Bellas are over –”

“Excuse me?” 

Beca faltered. “Well, when we lose the Worlds –”

“We are _not_ losing the Worlds,” said Aubrey sharply. “You sound like a pessimistic fortune teller. We are winning, and that’s final. Now get up.”

Beca shoved the last marshmallow in her mouth and scrambled to her feet. Woe betide any poor mortal who dared to ignore Aubrey’s orders, be they big or small.

“When we lose the Worlds,” muttered Aubrey. “In _my_ day, we had spirit. We weren’t afraid of losing. Put out the fire.”

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” said Beca, dumping a bucket of water over the flames. “It’s just that Das Sound Machine are the favorites to win this year.”

“Not these Germans again!” said Aubrey in exasperation. “You’ve only been here for a day, and all you can talk about is how amazing this German group is. It doesn’t matter how wide their vocal range is, or how they can build a freaking tsunami – how tacky does that sound? – _they’re just another a cappella group._ I don’t care how intimidating this Kommissar or her sidekick is, they’re just bullying you girls and having fun at your expense. Well, they won’t dare try that with me around.”

“She’s not a bully,” started Beca, then stopped. For some reason, she doubted Aubrey would be as sympathetic as Cynthia-Rose.

“Quite frankly, I don’t care who she is, and neither should you.” She pointed to the Bellas’ tent. “Now go to sleep and get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“I will,” said Beca, lowering her voice. “Thanks for listening. I’ve missed having you around.”

“Anytime,” smiled Aubrey. “Now go.”

***

**Copenhagen, September 2015**

 

“I am never flying with you guys ever again,” groaned Beca. 

“Oh, stop being such a gloomy Gus,” scoffed Stacie, lurching forward as the train to the city center juddered to a halt. “Just because I wanted to have a little fun on a transatlantic flight –”

“How could you even think about doing it in that bathroom, anyway?” said Chloe with a shudder. “Someone on that plane had the loosest bowels I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t look at me!” said Flo defensively. “I haven’t had diarrhea in months.”

“I didn’t know they allowed vibrators on planes. Shouldn’t that be a security hazard?”

“I’m just glad nobody noticed you put itching powder down that poor flight attendant’s skirt.”

“She deserved it! She was snooty.”

“Lilly, how did you get into the cockpit?”

“I picked the lock with a hairpin.”

“This is our stop!” announced Beca, waving her hand to catch the rambling Bellas’ attention. 

“ _Kongens Nytorv._ Is this language for real?”

“It looks like alphabet soup.”

***

As the Bellas entered the hotel that would be their home for the next ten days, they were greeted with the sight of Aubrey and three former Barden Bellas poring over a huge city map.

“There they are!” exclaimed a middle aged Bella, nudging Aubrey.

“Finally!” Aubrey, looking polished and fabulous as always, strode across the marble lobby. “You’re late. We’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

Beca threw Stacie and Flo a dirty look. “We had a slight mishap at Customs.”

“Don’t want to know,” said Aubrey, leading the Bellas to the crowded reception desk. “Check in and unpack, I’ve booked a rehearsal room for two o’clock.”

“Ever heard of jet lag, Aubrey?” yawned Chloe. 

“You’ll survive,” said Aubrey dismissively.

“This place is huge,” said Emily, watching well-dressed people mill in the spacious café next to the elevators. “Are all fifty a cappella groups staying here?”

“Just twelve are here,” said a brunette Bella. “The rest are dispersed in four other hotels.”

“Oh, good,” said Ashley, relieved. “Chances are, those German Dummkopfs won’t be here.”

“And who would these Dummkopfs be?” asked a deep voice in amusement.

Shit. 

Beca turned around in horror, hoping against hope she was mistaken. Alas, there was the Kommissar standing right behind them, wearing tight jeans and a plain black T-shirt.

“You’re staying here as well?” squeaked Beca, acutely aware of her dirty hair and unflattering sweats.

The Kommissar gave her a mischievous smile. “We are, little troll.”

“Excuse me?” Aubrey turned around and stared at the Kommissar incredulously. “Did you just call Beca a _troll?_ ”

The Kommissar threw Aubrey an irritated look. “Mind your own business.”

“The Bellas _are_ my business,” countered Aubrey, sticking out her hand. “Aubrey Posen, former Bella and current manager of Lodge at Fallen Leaves. Who are you?”

She ignored Aubrey and turned to Beca. “Had a good flight, _kleine Maus_?”

“Let me guess.” Aubrey pushed Beca aside. “Judging by your poor manners, you must be the infamous Kommissar.”  


“Watch your mouth,” said the Kommissar, vexed. “Here to throw up at the Worlds, too?”

“I’ll throw up on your boots if you don’t leave the Bellas alone,” glared Aubrey. “I know you’re used to people cowering at the mere sight of you, but you don’t scare me. If I ever hear you call Beca a ‘troll’ again, I won’t stop at your shoes. Now let us check-in in peace.”

The Kommissar drew breath to talk, then seemed to decide against it. She finally gave Beca a nod, turned on her heel and walked up the stairs.

“Go, Aubrey!” whooped Stacie.

“We just needed Aubrey all this time!” laughed Chloe. “The _look_ on her face …”

“Yes, well, she was rather rude,” said Aubrey, her cheeks pink. “She’d better not call anyone a troll again.”

Beca gave Aubrey a weak smile. She knew Aubrey meant well, but she really didn't mind being called a troll.


	13. Collateral Damage

**Copenhagen, September 2015**

 

Beca smiled to herself as she watched Chloe speak confidently to a journalist. The Worlds’ opening party was taking place in the lush green meadows of Copenhagen, where dozens of stands and a huge stage had been set in anticipation of the upcoming competition. The organizers had done a brilliant job of providing each competing group the opportunity to rehearse in private on stage, and the Bellas had made the most of their final rehearsal earlier that day. Aubrey, who was doing a great job of rallying the alumni Bellas, had reported that the Bellas’ quarters were equipped with everything they needed, from costumes to make-up to an emergency stash of itching powder. All that was missing were the last two boxes of flashlights, which would be delivered to the grounds tomorrow at noon. The supplier, chastened by Aubrey’s threats to sue, had apologized profusely for the mix-up, and promised to personally deliver the final two hundred flashlights.

“So far, so good,” said Cynthia-Rose, bopping her head to the live music streaming from the jazz band.

Beca nodded in agreement. “Win or lose, it’s been an amazing opportunity. We’ve definitely made the most of it.”

“And don’t you forget it,” said Cynthia-Rose firmly. “Relax a little. We’re good. We have a real shot at the title.”

 “I’m relaxed,” protested Beca. “I’m so relaxed, I don’t know the meaning of adrenaline.”

“Don’t get hold of a dictionary for two more days, then,” she grinned. “Becs?”

“Mm?”

“Guess who’s checking you out.”

Beca cleared her throat. “Jesse?”

“Guess again, _Maus_.”

“No!” squeaked Beca, wringing her hands. “Hide me, quick.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Cynthia-Rose, grabbing her hand. “Go over and say hi.”

“I can’t!” she said in fright. “Cynthia, I can’t, let me hide in the bathroom –”

“Hey there!” said Cynthia-Rose loudly, waving in the Kommissar’s direction. “Great party, isn’t it?”

“Stop it!” hissed Beca, struggling against her headstrong friend in vain. “Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it-”

She stumbled over a stray beer bottle and lurched forward right into Pieter’s arms.

“Well, look who’s here!” he said mockingly, catching her by the forearms. His grip was surprisingly gentle for someone with such a menacing demeanor.

“We should change your name to Clumsy Maus,” said the Kommissar in amusement, watching her scramble to her feet.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You, what’s-your-name. Let’s get something to drink.”

Pieter stared at Cynthia in disbelief. “Are you talking to me?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Cynthia impatiently and, much to Beca’s astonishment, dragged him away.

The Kommissar let out a throaty laugh. “Your friend has guts. I like her.”

“She’s great,” agreed Beca, watching her shove Pieter a bowl of chips.

The Kommissar drained her beer, which seemed to be her favorite choice of drink, and gestured to a passing waitress.

“You speak Danish?” asked Beca in interest, listening to her speak fluently to the waitress.

“I do,” she nodded. “So.”

“So.”

The Kommissar patted her messy topknot. She looked rather less intimidating with her informal hair and broken-in jeans.

 “Is this your first time here?”

“Yes, it’s my first time in Denmark,” said Beca, resting her elbows on a cocktail table. “I had no idea it was such a beautiful country. You?”

“I’ve been here before,” she replied as the same waitress came over with a full tray. _“Tak.”_

Beca watched the waitress set down two ghastly pink cocktails, one beer, and a dozen colorful cocktail umbrellas. “You ordered this?” she asked in surprise.

“You did say you like the umbrellas,” she said, flashing her a rare smile.

“Wow. I mean, thanks,” said Beca quickly. “You remembered.”

She shrugged. “No big deal.”

 _It is a big deal,_ shouted Beca inwardly, but said nothing. The Kommissar took a swig of her fresh beer and eyed the crowds.

“Is this your first Worlds?” asked Beca finally.

She nodded. “We didn’t represent Germany in 2011.”

“Really?” said Beca in interest. “I can’t imagine there’s a better German group than yours.”

“You and your compliments,” she said, shaking her head. “Actually – oh, I see your guardian angel coming.”

“Who?” asked Beca in bewilderment.

“We don’t want _her_ to see us talking,” said the Kommissar lightly. Her expression was pleasant enough, but there was a slight edge to her voice.

Beca noticed Aubrey waving at her in the distance. “That’s not what she meant,” she said uncomfortably. “She just … she’s protective.”

“I didn’t know you needed protection from me,” said the Kommissar bitterly. “I’d better go before she throws up on my shoes.”

“Look, you don’t have to be so _rude_ about it,” said Beca, crossing her arms defensively. “She’s an old friend and means well.”

“ _I’m_ the rude one now?” she said angrily. “Your friend threatens _me –_ ”

“She was looking out for me,” cut in Beca. "That's what friends do."

“Then I wish you two a lifetime of happiness,” said the Kommissar coldly. “ _Tschüss, Maus._ If I am still allowed to call you that.”

“I have a _name_ ,” she retorted.

“Well, I won’t be needing it,” she snapped. “See you at the Worlds.”

***

Luisa was not in a good mood.

She was always tense the day before an important performance, but her stress was exponentially worse on the eve of the Worlds. Not only would they be facing the _crème de la_ _crème_ of the a cappella world, the German press had all but declared them the winners, in part thanks to their overzealous PR team. DSM had to win, and they had to win by a fair margin to eliminate any doubt about her unorthodox choreographies.

She pushed back the covers and peered at her phone. It was seven-thirty. DSM’s stage rehearsal was set for nine-thirty. She had just enough time to go for a run, have a light breakfast and shower.

The crisp air woke her up. She ran for nearly an hour, relishing the solitude of the early morning. Her thoughts slowed down as she willed her legs to run faster. Fuck the press. Fuck the critics. Fuck the competition. Fuck the sponsors, Pieter, Babette, Johanna. Fuck everyone.

 _Fuck Tiny Maus,_ she thought as she entered the hotel. She was not certain what exactly her subconscious meant by that.

“Excuse me, I have a message for you,” said the receptionist, waving a slip of paper. “The tailor has delivered your costume to your changing rooms.”

“Oh.” Luisa wiped the sweat off her brow. The Worlds started tonight, and DSM was on tomorrow; if the tailor needed to make any more alterations, she’d have to send it back as soon as possible. “Thanks.”

Fifteen minutes later, she jumped off her rented bicycle. Stalls and benches were being set up in anticipation of the thousands of people who would be pouring in tonight and tomorrow. She swiped her ID card at the backstage entrance and jabbed the elevator button.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a sweaty Beca, sitting awkwardly on a stack of cardboard boxes.

 _“Scheiße,”_ muttered Luisa.

Beca toppled off her perch and banged her knee on the floor.

Luisa sucked in her cheeks. “I’ll wait.”

“It’s alright,” stammered Beca. “Which floor?”

“Basement.”

Beca pushed the button and the elevator doors slid shut.

Silence. Luisa checked her watch.

“In a hurry?” asked Beca.

“Not yet.”

Beca drummed her fingers on the boxes.

 _Thunk._ The elevator halted abruptly with a deafening screech, causing Luisa to lurch forward.

“What the fuck?” exclaimed Beca.

Luisa jabbed the buttons frantically, hoping against hope that the elevator would spring back into motion. _“Scheiße!”_

“Are we stuck?” squeaked Beca as the lights flickered. “Are we – are we –”

Luisa turned around in alarm as Beca started to take shallow breaths, the blood draining from her face. “Don’t worry,” she said quickly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

Beca nodded and exhaled. “Okay.”

“Good,” said Luisa, patting her arm. “The building isn’t deserted. They’ll get us out of here quickly.”

 _“Hej?”_ sounded a crackly voice. _“Kan du høre mig?”_  

 _"Vi sidder fast i elevatoren,”_ she replied, kneeling to speak into the emergency phone.  

 _"Køl ned. Teknikeren er på vej, vent roligt, indtil han kommer.”_

_”Tak.”_ Luisa set down the receiver and gave Beca a reassuring nod. “The technicians are on their way. Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay.” Beca took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

The lights flickered again, leaving them in near darkness.

“Not the lights as well,” said Beca anxiously.

“Are you scared of the dark?” asked Luisa, watching Beca slide to the floor.

Beca made a noncommittal gesture. “Just when I’m stuck in an elevator, I guess.”

Luisa carefully sat down and crossed her legs. Their torsos touched in the cramped space.

“What are in the boxes?” she asked.

“Oh, right!” exclaimed Beca and teared one of the boxes open. Hundreds of metal objects spilled out, clattering noisily on the floor.

“What the –”

“Flashlights!” said Beca, tossing Luisa one. She flashed hers in Luisa’s face.

Luisa shield her eyes. “What are you doing with so many flashlights?”

“They’re for the Worlds.”

“So many flashlights for ten Bellas?” asked Luisa curiously.

“You’ll see.”

Luisa rolled her eyes. As if she really cared about the Bellas’ flashlights.

Well, her curiosity _was_ piqued, but she wasn’t about to let Beca know about it.

“So.” Beca flicked the switch on her flashlight; on, off, on, off.

Luisa pursed her lips. “So.”

“How long d’you think it’ll take them?”

Luisa shrugged. “Shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Are you already bored of me?”

“No!” protested Beca. “That’s not what I meant. I never get bored of you.”

Luisa snorted. “I’m honored.”

“In fact, I’m glad I got stuck in the elevator with you.”

Luisa raised her eyebrows. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I don’t speak a word of Danish.”

Luisa rolled her eyes again; for some reason, she was reminded of Pieter. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you know I’m kidding,” said Beca, waving her flashlight in her face.

 _I don’t,_ Luisa thought exasperatedly. She impulsively grabbed Beca’s wrist; she was half-afraid of snapping it in two, she seemed so fragile in comparison to her sturdy frame. “Do you really not like me calling you Maus?”

Beca froze. She could feel her pulse throbbing against her palm.

“Or troll?” asked Luisa, leaning forward. She could feel Beca’s breath on her neck as their foreheads touched. “Do you really not like me?”

Beca stared at her like a deer in headlights. _Frightened Maus,_ flashed in Luisa’s head, but she refrained from uttering her newest nickname.

“I –” Beca licked her lips, chapped and bloodless. “I never said that.”

“You said that the first day we met,” pressed Luisa. She flicked off Beca’s flashlight with her free hand. She could just make out Beca’s wide eyes in the darkness. “I need to know, Beca. _Do you really not like me?”_

Beca’s breath fluttered against her skin, tickling her. “I wish I didn’t like you,” she whispered. “You have no idea how much I wished I didn’t like you.”

Luisa slid her hand down Beca’s wrist. Her tiny hand fit perfectly in hers. “Why is that?” she asked, tracing Beca’s fingers with her thumb.

Beca dug her fingernails in Luisa’s palm. “Because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since we met,” she said softly. “You nearly wrecked my GPA, you know.”

Luisa laughed, her first genuine laugh in days. “Collateral damage.”

“And that’s not the kind of excuse you can use,” added Beca. “ ‘Sorry, professor, I need an extension on my paper because I’ve been obsessing over a German a cappella singer.’ Doesn’t cut it.”

Luisa tentatively placed her free arm around Beca’s shoulders; to her delight, Beca snuggled close to her. “If it were me, I’d definitely give an extension for that.”

“Good thing you’re not in academia, then,” grinned Beca. “You’d end up giving everyone extensions.”

Luisa rested her chin on Beca’s soft hair. “You still didn’t answer my other question.”

“Mm?”

“Do my nicknames really bother you?”

Beca nestled her head in Luisa’s chest. “Terribly. Don’t ever stop using them.”

Luisa smiled to herself. “As you wish, _kleine Maus_.”

Beca’s warm breath warmed her like a furnace. They sat in silence for what seemed like forever, their bodies finishing each other perfectly as if they were jigsaw pieces.

Suddenly, as if the aca-gods meant to interrupt their sacrilegious behavior, the elevator sprung to life.

 _”Skal jeg?”_ sounded a voice as the bright lights came back.

 _"Ja,”_ shouted Luisa, quickly entangling herself from Beca. The elevator doors slid open, and Luisa gratefully threw herself out.

“Thanks,” said Beca to the burly technician, who was curiously eyeing the flashlights in the lift. 

Luisa dumped a few dozen flashlights in the box and cleared her throat. “See you at the Worlds, then.” 

“See you,” said Beca, avoiding Luisa’s gaze.

“See you.”

*** 

“You’re late,” said Pieter sourly as Luisa clambered up the steps to the main stage. 

“Had a little incident,” said Luisa breathlessly. She noticed her colleagues eyeing her disapprovingly. _“Was?_ What?” 

“Can’t you wait another day before you fool around with the scrawny Bella?” demanded Johanna. “How the _fuck_ you can spend time with her, the day before the Worlds, I have _no_ idea –” 

“I got stuck in the elevator!” exclaimed Luisa, crossing her arms defensively. “And you have no right talking to me like that.” 

“We have every right if our lead singer is fucking a _Bella_ the day before our show,” said Philipp angrily. 

“Watch your mouth,” snarled Luisa. “I’m only fifteen minutes late. Now shut the fuck up and get in line.”

Fuck everyone, indeed.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the Danish sentences don't make any sense, it's Google Translator's fault!


	14. Spring Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

**September 2015, Copenhagen**

 

Luisa sat up and kneaded her eyes. She hadn’t taken off her heavy stage make-up or false eyelashes, a cardinal sin, but she wasn’t in the mood to care. Interesting, really, how little one cared for in times of distress.

She peered at the bedside clock. Three-thirty a.m. Her phone was lit with dozens of notifications, messages and missed calls. She was probably the only one in bed and not at the huge party.

No, perhaps Beca and her boyfriend – her new fiancé, to be precise – had also left, in hopes of consummating the new stage in their relationship.

***

News of the proposal had spread through the end-of-Worlds party like wildfire.

“You have no idea what happened,” shouted Pieter, his voice barely audible over the commotion.

“ _Was?_ What now?” she asked sourly. She wasn’t in the mood to chitchat with Pieter, not after his snub at the awards ceremony.

“You’re not going to believe this –”

“Coming to you live from the Worlds after-party!” chirped a bright-eyed reporter adjacent to her. Luisa grimaced – she’d had enough of the media to last her for a lifetime. “Following the first ever American victory in a cappella history, the Barden Bellas have a new event to celebrate! We’re joined by Rebecca Mitchell, captain of the Bellas, and her new fiancé, Jesse Swanson!”

 _“Fiancé?”_ exclaimed Luisa, staring at the animated newscaster in horror.

“That’s the big news!” said Pieter impatiently. “If you’d just let me _finish_ my sentence for once –”

 _“Verpiss dich,”_ scowled Luisa. “When did this happen? Why didn’t I hear about it?”

“You were probably in the bathroom again,” he retorted. “You have diarrhea or something tonight?”

“Watch your mouth,” she snapped. “Now shut the fuck up for two seconds.”

Beca and a beaming, youthful man appeared next to the reporter. Luisa could just make out a ring flashing on Beca’s right hand.

“So, Beca! Show us that ring!” said the reporter animatedly, shoving her hand under the camera.

“That’s it,” said Beca, giving a tight smile. “Can I have my hand back?”

The reporter let out a high-pitched laugh, as if Beca had told the most amusing joke. “How did Jesse propose, Beca?”

“You know,” said Beca, struggling to free her hand from the reporter’s clutch. “The usual.”

“How about you, Jesse?” said the reporter, thrusting her microphone under Jesse’s nose. “Did everything go as you planned?”

“Can’t complain,” he said happily. He was fairly good-looking, Luisa thought, but she wouldn’t have pinned him down as Beca’s boyfriend in a million years.

“As an a cappella singer yourself, you must be delighted with Beca’s success!”

“I’m so proud of her,” he smiled, giving Beca a squeeze. “As I told her when we first met – I’m an aca-boy, she’s an aca-girl, and we’re going to have aca-children.”

“Isn’t that romantic,” cooed the reporter, unaware of Beca’s grimace. “For those of you joining us now, we’re coming to you live from the after-party of the twenty-seventh A Cappella World Championships in Copenhagen, Denmark. Here are some highlights from the eventful night.”

“We’re off,” announced the cameraman.

“Great speaking to you,” beamed the reporter. “Have a great time!”

“Thanks,” said Jesse warmly. Luisa felt like hurling at the sight of his wide grin. _This_ was who she was losing to?

“Cute,” smirked Pieter, chinking Luisa’s beer bottle. “To the happy couple.”

“Fuck you,” said Luisa sourly. “I’m going to bed.”

“You can’t leave yet!” he objected. “Babette and Erika said the media coverage is going on until four, we might be interviewed again.”

“I’ve had enough of the press.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Babette can have my screen time.”

***

She hadn’t _lost,_ though. That implied she was competing in the first place.

She swore as she knocked over an open water bottle in the dark, spoiling the outdated beige carpet.

She just expected Beca to have better taste. How could she marry a three-year-old who crowed ‘Becaw!’ on live television?

Anyway, she _had_ lost. DSM had lost. To the Garden Gnomes.

She rested her forehead against the cool bathroom mirror. That vodka shot after her fourth beer had been a mistake. She should know better.

At least Nina, her one true fan in the world, hadn’t watched DSM lose.

***

_“DSM! Ja! DSM! Ja! DSM! Ja!”_

DSM’s chanting rang loud in their cramped changing rooms. Luisa shouted with all her might, relishing the adrenaline rush their pre-show routine brought. She had never been one for superstitions, but these few minutes spent in a tight circle with her extended family had become somewhat of a lucky charm.

“Let’s do this!” hollered Elif as they broke into applause.

“Rock that stage!” said Babette energetically. “I’ll be waiting with the champagne.”

“I don’t think we have much to worry about,” agreed Johanna. “The Naan-Stops are leading, but we’ll easily top their technique points.”

“Last fifteen!” yelled the stage director.

“I’ll be right there,” said Luisa and closed herself in the restroom. She did a cursory check of her hair and make-up – _flawless,_ as Maus would say. Satisfied, she fished out her phone and dialed Nina’s home number.

_“Hallo?”_

_“Grüß dich, Angie,”_ she said. _“Ich möchte mit Nina sprechen.”_

Angie sighed. _“Bitte ruf nicht so spät an._ It’s nearing Nina’s bedtime.”

“I’m about to go on stage!” said Luisa, ruffled. “She said she’d watch me live.”

“Tomorrow’s a school day,” said Angie smoothly. “She’s going to bed. I’ll tell her you called.”

“But –” _Click._ Luisa stared at the screen in disbelief. She and Angie had never hit it off, but Nina had been so excited about the Worlds! She had wished her luck yesterday, and asked her thrice on which channel she could watch her live. Ten minutes of television wouldn’t stunt her growth, surely?

No geneticist could explain how her sweet, precious little sister could have that ice-queen for a mother.

***

Twenty minutes later, Luisa flushed the toilet and washed her mouth. She _really_ shouldn’t have drunk that last shot.

She curled up on her bed and unlocked her phone. Messages. More messages. Interview requests. Latest news on MTV. Viral videos. DSM’s PR schedule for tomorrow. Tumblr, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, whatever latest social media app was trending, they were all clamoring for her attention, twinkling merrily at her, sapping her energy like a parasite.

She was too old for this shit.

She was too old for caring about what the public thought, she was too old for drinking away her troubles, and she was definitely too old for silly flirtations with a taken woman ten years her junior.

She was too old, period.

***

_“DSM! Ja! DSM! Ja!”_

Luisa and Pieter exchanged glances as they listened to the enthusiastic audience chant. DSM was a crowd favorite in Northern Europe, they had the home advantage.

“Last five!” shouted the stage director, his voice hoarse after two days of non-stop yelling.

Luisa gave a satisfied nod at her colleagues, who were already lined up in proper order. _“Ich traue euch_. We deserve this title.”

“Oh, look who else believes in us,” cooed Pieter. “ _Guck mal, Luisa_. The Garden Gnomes are here to congratulate us.”

“What did you call us?” asked Ginger indignantly.

Luisa ignored her and turned to her tiny Maus, who was looking positively petrified. Then again, DSM decked in their best gear _was_ a rather intimidating sight, one she remembered well from her audition days.

“You hear that?” she said loudly. “They chant. For us.” She rested her hand on Maus’ smooth cheek, which burned to the touch. “Now, try not to cry too much when you lose. Makes eyes puffy.”

“Your hands are so soft,” muttered Maus.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak loser,” she said, furrowing her brow. “What did you say?”

“She actually speaks eight languages, but loser is not one of them,” said Pieter. “Now behave and lose nice.”

“Your sweat smells like cinnamon!” yelled Maus.

She sincerely doubted her pungent smell of booze and sick smelled like cinnamon just then, but she appreciated the sentiment.

***

“And we’re coming to you live from the Copenhagen Opera House, where the runner-up and winning a cappella groups commence their city tour!”

Luisa hoisted DSM’s runner-up trophy on the steps of the famous opera house, her trademark steely gaze plastered on her dolled-up face. The transformative powers of make-up never ceased to amaze her – not even an unfiltered close-up could betray her purple eye circles. Lightbulbs flashed around her as a cappella enthusiasts and gawking tourists whooped and cheered, clearly enjoying the PR spectacle much more than she did.

“Say cheese!” yelled a photographer.

“Americans,” sighed Pieter.

“And we’re here with the 2015 runner-ups, the German a cappella sensations DSM!” chirped an enthusiastic reporter, whose continuous use of the word ‘and’ was starting to get on Luisa’s nerves.

“And we’re here with the lead singers, Luisa Meyer and Pieter Krämer. How do you feel after your brilliant performance yesterday?”

 _We lost,_ she thought irritably. “We’re very proud of our efforts, and being runner-up in our first Worlds is an admirable achievement.”

“Do you already have your eyes set on the 2019 Worlds?”

“Of course we do,” said Pieter confidently. “Our next priority is defending our European Championships title.”

“Good thing the Barden Bellas aren’t competing there!” joked the reporter.

“We congratulate the Barden Bellas on being the first ever American group to win the title,” said Luisa, quoting their manager’s press release word for word. “We put up a great performance, but the Bellas’ use of an original song awarded them near-perfect lyrical and artistic points.”

“And will you be looking into using originals in your own shows, or modifying your choreographies?”

“DSM has its own unique style that has breathed fresh air on the a cappella screen,” replied Luisa, her professional smile unwavering. “We will continue to hone and perfect our skills.”

“And we’ll be looking forward to the results!” She turned to the cameras and smiled widely. “And now we’re joined by the 2015 a cappella champions, the Barden Bellas!”

Luisa rolled her eyes as the cameras swiveled away from DSM and focused on the haphazardly dressed Bellas.

“We should’ve brought vodka,” said Elif cheerfully. “Take a shot whenever the reporter says ‘and’.”

“You should go into politics, Luisa,” grinned Johanna. “You’d make a perfect spokesperson.”

“Shh!” hissed a cameraman, gesturing at the Bellas.

“So, Beca,” grinned the reporter. “You must be feeling very proud of the Bellas!”

“I am, definitely,” said Beca, nodding at the huge trophy Ginger was clutching. “It’s our contribution to the Bellas’ legacy.”

“And what a legacy that is! I got shivers watching generations of Bellas sing.”

“We’re a Bellarmy,” laughed Beca’s guardian angel, whose smart dress stood in stark contrast to Beca’s casual flannel shirt and jeans.

“And what about your upcoming nuptials, Beca?”

Beca’s smile tightened. “Can we focus on the Bellas?”

“Just show us that ring again!” she pressed, grabbing Beca’s right hand. “It was _so_ exquisite –”

“I don’t have the ring,” said Beca shortly. “Can we just talk about the Worlds?”

“Does this mean the wedding’s off?”

“ _My_ wedding is coming up,” jumped in Cynthia-Rose, the Bella who had dragged Pieter away.

“How wonderful,” breathed the reporter, dropping Beca’s hand. “Does this mean another Bella reunion is on the horizon?”

“Definitely,” said Ginger. “We’re looking forward to see each other before we move on.”

“What will you be doing, now that you’ve graduated?”

“We’re all busy getting our new lives sorted out,” said Beca. “Big life decisions take time.”

As the newscaster chattered animatedly, Luisa watched Beca frown and stuff her hands in her pockets. “Doesn’t she look unenthusiastic to you?” she asked Pieter. “Do you think the wedding’s off? _Was meinst du?_ ”

“Why do _you_ care?” said Pieter, posing for a group of German fans. “Come here and smile for the cameras.”

“If you had bothered to find out how I’ve been doing, you’d know why I care,” snapped Luisa. “ _Vergiss es._ Forget I asked.”

“Snap out of it,” said Pieter, flashing a peace sign at the cameras. “The Worlds are over. You’ll never see her again. It’s time to return to real life.”

“What’s unreal about _this?_ ” hissed Luisa, watching Cynthia-Rose pat Beca’s arm.

“We’re on live in Germany in five!” announced Babette. “Erika’s set up an appearance on _Wetten, dass..?_ ”

“Think of it as a spring break,” said Pieter as he took a selfie with a teenage fan. “You had your fun over the holidays. Now it’s time to go back to school. Come finals week, you won’t even remember who the little troll was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ich möchte mit Nina sprechen: I'd like to talk to Nina  
> Bitte ruf nicht so spät an: Please don't call so late  
> Ich traue euch: I trust you  
> Guck mal: Look  
> Wetten, dass..?: a German talk show, it aired until 2014 but pretend it lasted a year longer ~~because I haven't heard of any other German talk shows~~


	15. Goodbye For Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate updating so sporadically, but I've been really stressed and it's been sapping my creativity (whatever small amount I have) like a parasite. I hope you enjoy, and (mushy alert) thank you so much to everyone who leaves such kind words in the comments. You people make my day, and I appreciate you taking the time to read my rambling story so much!

**Barden University, May 2015**

Whoever came up with the idea of wearing a square cap for graduation was probably having a bad hair day.

“Chloe!” yelled Beca, swatting the tassel away. “Help!”

A beaming Chloe barged inside her room, her cap set perfectly on her shiny curls. “Still not ready?”

“It won’t stay put,” whined Beca.

“That’s because you’re too impatient,” said Chloe reprovingly. “Here, let me.”

Beca closed her eyes as Chloe started to brush her hair.

“Hurry up!” hollered Stacie. “We still haven’t taken a group photo!”

“We’re nearly done!” called Chloe, setting down the brush.

“I can’t believe we’re nearly done,” said Beca quietly.

“Just because _you_ suck at doing your hair doesn’t mean it has to take ages,” grinned Chloe.

“I didn’t mean the hair.”

Chloe secured her cap with a hairpin. “I know you didn’t.”

“At least we still have the Worlds,” said Beca, trying to keep her voice cheerful. “And we’ll visit each other. Maybe we’ll even end up in the same state.”

Chloe’s hand paused mid-air. “Beca –”

“We might even end up being roommates again!”

“Beca.” Chloe placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m moving.”

“Oh.” Beca rubbed her nose. “Well, who knows where I’ll end up finding a job. We might live nearby –”

“Becs, I’m moving to Russia.”

 _“Russia?”_ exclaimed Beca.

“I got accepted to Saint Petersburg State University,” said Chloe. “I’ll be doing my masters in Russian and East European Literature.”

“But – but you never said anything!” exclaimed Beca, shaking off Chloe’s hand. “I can’t believe this!”

 “Becs, I didn’t tell anyone,” said Chloe apologetically. “It was a long shot, I didn’t expect I’d get a place. I only got my acceptance letter two weeks ago.”

“Two _weeks_?” repeated Beca in horror. “You’ve known for _two weeks_ and you didn’t tell me?”

“Don’t get angry, Becs,” pleaded Chloe. “We’ve been so busy with rehearsals and graduation and packing, I didn’t have the time –”

“And here I am, hoping we’ll end up living nearby,” said Beca, her voice breaking. “You could have at least told _me._ ”

“Oh, Becs.” Chloe wrapped her arms tightly around her.

Beca inhaled her flowery perfume. She’d miss her scent. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you,” said Chloe, her voice muffled. “I’m kind of scared, actually. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

Beca squeezed her hand. “I’m sure you’ll have an amazing experience. I’m proud of you.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do, silly,” she said, forcing herself to smile widely. “I’ll come and visit you so often, you’ll get sick of me.”

 _“Get-down-here-this-minute!”_ screeched Stacie.

***

 

**Copenhagen, September 2015**

“For the last time, you don’t have to come with me to the airport!” said Chloe, shoving her passport in her handbag.

“We _want_ to come,” said Beca stubbornly.

“You know how much I hate long farewells,” said Chloe. “And I won’t be gone forever, I’ll be back for Cynthia’s wedding!”

Beca held the door open as Chloe rolled out her suitcase. “It’s not like we have anything else to do tonight.”

“After our narrow escape at Customs, I think the less time the Bellas spend at the airport, the better.”

Beca grimaced. “I’m searching their pockets and socks next time.”

“ _There_ you are!” exclaimed Aubrey as they stepped off the elevator. “I _told_ you not to leave your packing to the last minute –”

“Three cheers for Chloe!” whooped Jessica.

“For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow –”

“Stop yelling,” laughed Chloe. “You’ll get us thrown out of the hotel.”

“If the great Sour Cream Debacle didn’t get us thrown out, I doubt anything will.”

“You sure you don’t want us coming?”

“You’re staying, _I’m_ going with her,” said Beca firmly. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay away from the rooftop.”

***

The only upside of saying goodbye was browsing the bountiful duty-free shops beforehand.

“How about this one?” Chloe pouted her cherry-red lips. “I think it suits my hair.”

“My vote still goes for Ravishing Red.”

“You think?” Chloe frowned at her reflection. “Don’t think it’s too bright?”

“Nah.”

“Or what about black lipstick?” asked Chloe, uncapping the tester tube of Starry Night. “I wouldn’t wear it during the day, but when I’m going out it would look rather daring.”

“You look awesome in any color, but you need to choose quickly,” said Beca, pointing at the bright announcement screen. “You’ve got forty minutes and you still haven’t passed Customs.”

“Shit!” exclaimed Chloe. “I _told_ you we shouldn’t have ordered the soufflé.”

Beca shoved an unopened tube of Ravishing Red in her hand. “Stop whining and pay. The soufflé was worth the wait.”

Chloe nodded and rushed to the nearest queue, her purple handbag swinging dangerously close to a shelf stacked with vodka.

“Watch out, Chlo!” said Beca loudly. “Look out for the bottles!”

“I’m good!” yelled Chloe, bumping into a Ferrero Rocher stand.

“I’ll clean them up, you go pay!” laughed Beca. For a klutz like Chloe, knocking over just one box of chocolates was a noteworthy achievement. She bent down with a groan – she really needed to stretch more often – and noticed a stray ID card lying on the floor.

_Name: Krämer_

_Vorname: Pieter_

Holy fuck.

***

It was the riff-off all over again. What sin had she committed to be punished yet again with the guardianship of DSM property?

“Becs? Becs!”

Beca quickly shoved the little plastic card in her coat pocket. “Got the lipstick?”

“Yes, and I need to hurry,” said Chloe, flustered. “D’you think they’ll confiscate the sneezing powder Flo gave me?”

“After the near miss with the itching powder they might have changed the rules,” said Beca doubtfully. “You have your passport?”

“Check,” nodded Chloe.

“Boarding pass?”

“Check.”

“Okay.” Beca exhaled. “Then I guess … this is it. The parting of the ways.”

Chloe’s face twisted in pain. “Don’t talk like that, Becs. I’ll be back next month. And I’ll visit.”

“The end of an era. The separation of sisters. The –”

Chloe cupped Beca’s mouth with her hand. “You’re not going to make me cry, so stop trying.”

Beca inhaled the familiar scent of Chloe’s moisturizer. “Goodbye for now, Becs,” she said softly.

“See you later, Chlo,” said Beca. She felt herself rising on her toes in anticipation of – what? An embrace? Surely not a kiss? She was being ridiculous, typical Beca, they’d write _ridiculous_ on her tombstone –

“Flight 780 to St. Petersburg is ready for boarding,” boomed the loudspeakers. “Will passengers traveling to St. Petersburg please come to Gate 103 …”

“Shit, I’m really late,” lamented Chloe, dropping her hand. “Bye, Becs. See you at the wedding!”

She enveloped Chloe in a bear hug, trying not to betray her awkwardness. “Good luck, Chlo.”

Chloe gave her a wide smile, squeezed her arm and dashed off, leaving Beca alone with nothing but the fading scent of her flowery perfume.

Beca swallowed the rising lump in her throat and shook her head. This was life. People moved on. Onwards and upwards.

First, though, she had to go downwards and find Pieter.

***

If she was being completely honest, she didn’t really want to find Pieter. Unlike Luisa, his snide remarks seemed to be rooted in malice rather than playful teasing. She’d return to the shop, hand the ID card to the cashier and scurry away before she could entangle herself in another duel of words she was bound to lose.

Not that she minded dueling with Luisa.

“This isn’t a _library_!” sounded a high-pitched voice in annoyance. “We don’t have lost-and-found boxes!”

Beca froze in the Maybelline aisle. Surely that wasn’t –

“Luisa!”

The blonde goddess turned around, her eyes opening wide in surprise – perhaps delight? – at the sight of her. “Tiny Maus! What are _you_ doing here?”

“I dropped off a friend,” she said breathlessly, drinking in the intoxicating sight of Luisa. Somehow, under the garish airport lights, without her flawless make-up or tight clothes, she looked… softer. Approachable. “I think I have what you’re looking for.”

“You don’t mean Pieter’s ID?” exclaimed Luisa.

“I do,” said Beca, fishing out the little card.

“Oh, thank you, _Mäuschen,_ ” said Luisa, clearly relieved. “That _careless_ Pieter, he’s been driving us mad, having us search for _his_ ID. I have half a mind not to give it back to him.”

“Tell him I found it,” grinned Beca. “He’ll hate owing me one.”

“You know him well,” said Luisa, impressed. “Come on, you can give it back to him.”

“I don’t want to see him!” she spluttered. “He’s – you know –”

“Oh, I do,” said Luisa dryly, tucking Beca’s hand in the crook of her arm. “And he’s going to be polite to you if it kills him.”

Beca had no choice but to follow Luisa, her hand firmly tucked under her strong arm. Not that she had any complaints, oh no – it was rather dreamlike, actually, to follow the orders of a towering goddess.

“I didn’t have a chance to see you after the Worlds,” said Luisa.

“It was rather hectic,” agreed Beca.

“I never did congratulate you,” said Luisa, her voice brisk. “So. Congratulations.”

“Oh. Er, thanks,” said Beca, bemused. She sneaked a look at Luisa’s impassive face. “I never thought we’d win, actually.”

“You deserved it, Maus,” said Luisa levelly. “Your piece was very touching. Very unorthodox.”

With Luisa, she never felt sure if she was being complimented or not. “Thanks, I guess? Or not?”

“ _Um Gottes Willen, Mäuschen!”_ Luisa stopped abruptly in her tracks, causing Beca to lurch forward. “I know I tease you occasionally –”

“Occasionally?” repeated Beca.

“Okay, often –”

“Often?”

Luisa rolled her eyes. “Cheeky Maus. What I’m saying is, I don’t mean it disrespectfully. I respect you. So when I say congratulations, I mean it.”

Beca felt a smile creep on her face.  “Thanks. And not to return the compliment, but you guys were brilliant. I really thought you’d win.”

Luisa laid a quick kiss on the top of Beca’s head, so fast and light that Beca hardly felt it. “Thank you, Maus. Now let’s go irritate Pieter.”

“Did you just –“

Luisa pressed a finger to Beca’s lips. “Hush, _Mäuschen_. Let’s go.”

***

The look on Pieter’s face was priceless.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he said incredulously, his eyes flickering from her face to Luisa’s.

“Just hanging around,” said Beca nonchalantly. “I got bored of the city center.”

“She has something for you,” said Luisa. “Beca?”

Beca planted the ID in Pieter’s hand. “Found it in the duty-free shop. Next to the chocolates?”

“ _More_ chocolates?” exclaimed Luisa. “You already have a dozen unopened boxes at home.”

Pieter threw Luisa a dirty look. “You never complain when you’re in one of your _moods._ ”

“Shut up and thank Beca,” ordered Luisa, wrapping an arm around her waist – the Kommissar had her arm around her waist! _“Jetzt.”_

“Thanks,” said Pieter gruffly. His eyes briefly rested on Luisa’s hand. _“Übrigens, unser Flug hat vier Stunden Verspätung.”_

 _“Gut, dann können wir was trinken,”_ said Luisa coolly. “Beca can join us.”

Pieter shrugged. “The troll’s drink is on me.”

***

Beca was surely in the Twilight zone.

Here she was, sitting in a cozy airport lounge with twenty-odd DSM members, chatting and laughing as if they hadn’t been rivals for the past six months. True, some of them didn’t seem particularly overjoyed at the sight of their captain returning with her Tiny Maus, but the rest had included her in their conversations readily enough. What’s more, Pieter had not cracked a single joke at her expense yet, though she suspected this had more to do with Luisa’s lingering hand on her back than Pieter’s decorum.

“This four-hour delay is nothing, remember that time in Shanghai?” laughed a dark-haired DSM member, who seemed to be one of Luisa’s closer friends. “Our flight was delayed fourteen hours because of a Lufthansa strike, and I had the stomach flu –”

“You spewed all over the bathroom,” shuddered the singer with spiky blond hair.

“– And half of DSM was throwing up for the next two weeks,” she giggled. “Six months later I had salmonella in Budapest, but I’m not sure if that was before or after my appendicitis in Beirut –”

“Thanks to Elif, we’ve had our fair share of illnesses on the road,” said Luisa wryly. “Another drink, Beca?”

“Sure.”

“I only said the first drink’s on me,” warned Pieter.

“ _Ich bezahle, keine Angst,”_ said Luisa, shooting him a dirty look. _“Du warst immer geizig.”_

“You don’t have to pay, Luisa,” said Beca. “I’ll pick up the rest.”

Luisa raised her eyebrows in interest. “You speak German _?”_

“A bit,” said Beca, feeling her cheeks glow red as everyone stared at her. “I can’t speak much, but I understand well enough. My mother spoke German to me when I was little.”

“ _Scheiße,_ she was listening to us the whole time,” muttered the blond beatboxer.

“Who would have known Tiny Maus is half German?” said Luisa, clinking her beer bottle against hers. “Have you ever lived in Germany?”

“No, but my mother lives in Frankfurt.”

“What a coincidence!” Luisa gestured at Pieter, whose unenthusiasm stood in stark contrast to Luisa’s delight. “We come from Frankfurt. We visit the place at least three times a year. Maybe we’ll see you there someday.”

“I’d like that,” smiled Beca.

“And I’d like you two to get a room,” grumbled the wiry singer, the one Chloe had become rather well acquainted with at the riff-off.

 _“Hör auf, Johanna,”_ said Luisa sharply. “I never asked for your opinion.”

“Whatever.” Johanna stood up and yawned. “I’m going to ask if our flight’s delayed any longer.”

 “Don’t mind Johanna, Beca,” said Elif consolingly as Johanna sauntered away. “She’s still bitter about our loss.”

“Loss or no loss, she’s become very annoying,” said Luisa irritably.

Pieter stretched his branchlike arms. “She’s never liked outsiders dating us.”

“It’s none of her business,” snapped Luisa. “If she doesn’t shut up, I’ll staple her mouth shut for her.”

Beca felt the blood creep up her neck, much to her embarrassment. How much had Luisa been talking about her to her bandmates? Was everyone so aware of their – for lack of a better word – proximity?

“Calm down, Katzi,” said Pieter sleepily. “I’m going to take a nap. Seems like we’re stuck here tonight.”

Beca glanced at her watch. “I really should get going. It’s almost midnight, and our flight’s tomorrow.”

“As you wish,” said Luisa, draining her beer. “Are you going to take the subway?”

“I guess – hey!” Beca tugged on Luisa’s sleeve as she handed the bartender a few notes. “I was going to pay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, _Mäuschen,_ ” said Luisa, swatting her hand away.

“You never buy _me_ a drink,” said Pieter indignantly.

“That’s because I don’t like _you_ ,” retorted Luisa, draping her arm around Beca’s shoulder. “See you in a bit.”

***

_That’s because I don’t like you. She doesn’t like outsiders dating us. It’s none of her business._

Either Beca was reading too much into Luisa’s words, or – well. The mere possibility of the almighty Kommissar interested in her was enough to set her face on fire.

“I don’t think you should take the subway by yourself,” said Luisa doubtfully, eyeing the deserted entrance in trepidation. “I’m coming with you.”

“You have a flight to catch!” protested Beca.

“With DSM’s luck, our flight will be delayed for two days,” snorted Luisa. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“But you’ll have to return alone –”

“The line to the airport is always crowded,” said Luisa, skipping down the stairs. “Are you coming or not?”

Of course she was coming, though Beca as she rushed to keep up with Luisa’s brisk pace. She would come along to the North Pole if Luisa asked for her company.

After successfully paying for a two-way ticket for Luisa in a skirmish involving much protesting, pushing and laughter, Beca flopped on a hard bench. “Eight minutes. Bummer.”

“Are you so bored of my company, Tiny Maus?” asked Luisa, sitting next to her.

“Terribly.”

“Tough luck,” said Luisa, wrapping her arm around her. Beca nuzzled up to her and rested her head on her chest. She fit just right under Luisa’s chin.

“I’m glad we ran into each other tonight,” said Luisa.

“Me too,” said Beca. “I wanted to say goodbye, but I didn’t have a single free moment after the Worlds.”

Luisa began to stroke Beca’s hair, her fingers gently tracing her scalp. “The media attention can be very suffocating.”

“Tell me about it,” winced Beca. “And they were more interested in my – my affairs than our win.”

Luisa continued to play with her hair in silence, allowing Beca to gather her thoughts.

“It’s just – it’s so degrading,” she huffed. “I’m the lead singer of the newest a cappella champions, and all the reporters want to talk about is my fucking _ring –_ how many carats is it? How did he propose? Why aren’t you wearing the ring anymore? Did you break up? Why did you break up? Fuck them.”

Luisa exhaled. “Gutter press.”

“I’m not looking forward to going back home, that’s for sure,” said Beca dejectedly. “My family has their own Jesse fan club. My dad’s the club president.”

“Don’t worry,” said Luisa. Beca could tell she was smiling from the music of her voice. “It will blow over. People have very short-term memories when it comes to tabloid gossip, trust me.”

“How do you know?” asked Beca curiously.

Luisa drew back as the subway train screeched to a deafening halt. “Let’s go, Maus.”

By now, Beca knew better than to insist for an answer, so she merely rested her head on Luisa’s shoulder and said nothing.

“Where was the friend you dropped off heading to?” asked Luisa four stops later.

“Chloe’s moving to St. Petersburg.”

“Ah.” Luisa cleared her throat. “You and Ginger seem to be very close.”

“We are.” Chloe’s bright face flashed in front of her eyes for a split-second. “You could say she’s my Pieter.”

“I see.”

“You’d like her if you had the chance to get to know her,” said Beca. “When I think about it, you two are really alike. You’re both great singers, you’re competitive, you have one hell of a body …”

Luisa let out a throaty laugh. “You spoil me with your compliments, _Mäuschen._ I’m going to miss that.”

“Just the compliments?” she asked innocently.

Luisa pushed back Beca’s hair, leaving her neck exposed. “Among other things.”

She felt the heat rise up her neck to her face. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Luisa ran her thumb along her collarbone. “I might miss the shameless glances.” She rested her hand on Beca’s chest. “And the blushing.” Her mouth lingered over her ear. “The shiver at my touch.”

“I don’t shiver,” she murmured, closing her eyes as Luisa’s breath tickled her.

“Liar,” whispered Luisa, sliding her lips down her neck. Beca’s hands crept up Luisa’s back by their own accord, pulling her in closer.

 “ _Kongens Nytorv!“_ announced a tinny voice.

Beca’s eyes snapped open. “Shit, that’s my stop!”

Luisa quickly rose from her seat and straightened her jacket. “Get up, Maus,” she said calmly, as if her mouth had not just been traveling on her neck.

“I’m coming,” she said, scrambling to gather her belongings. She jumped off the train at the last second, cursing her bad luck. Why couldn’t her hotel be farther away?

“You took your time,” said Luisa reprovingly.

“Yes, well, it’s your fault,” said Beca breathlessly. “You should know better than to seduce unsuspecting people on the underground.”

“Oh, hush,” said Luisa, pulling out her cellphone. “Let me know when you arrive at the hotel, or else I’ll send a search party.”

“Eh?”

“If you don’t mind giving me your number, that is,” said Luisa pointedly.

“Oh!” Her number. What was her number again?

“You really should know your own number by heart, Maus,” said Luisa, tapping on her phone screen as Beca struggled to string the numbers together. “Good. I’m calling you now, so you can save mine.”

“Thanks,” said Beca dazedly. “I’ll… I’ll text you when I’m in my room.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Luisa held Beca’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Tiny Maus. I hope our paths will cross again.”

“Me too,” she breathed. “I’ll miss you.”

Luisa lowered her head, and Beca instinctively rose on her toes. Her mouth, as soft as her hands, brushed against hers.

“Goodbye for now, _Mäuschen,_ ” she whispered.

“Goodbye,” exhaled Beca, savoring the heady taste of Luisa on her mouth. “Goodbye for now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jetzt: Now  
> Übrigens, unser Flug hat vier Stunden Verspätung: by the way, our plane has a four-hour delay  
> Gut, dann können wir was trinken: Good, then we can have something to drink  
> Ich bezahle, keine Angst, du warst immer geizig: I'll pay, don't worry, you were always cheap


	16. A Flight Attendant's Worst Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually could have posted this chapter a month ago, but ~~I fell into a deep dark mental hole with no clean laundry~~ I wasn't in a good headspace for writing, I'm sorry! It's nice and long so hope that makes it worth the wait.  <3 (And I don't care if I'm straining the laws of probability, all's fair in love and Becommissar fanfics.)

**Copenhagen, November 2016**

 

Luisa winced as she shifted in her seat. DSM’s flight to Berlin was delayed indefinitely, leaving them stranded at the airport for the night. While Luisa was more than accustomed to sleeping at airports, train stations and bus terminals, she was no longer able to get through the night outside her bed without aggravating her spine, an unpleasant reminder that she wasn’t the lithe twenty-year-old she used to be.

The garish artificial lighting didn’t help, either. Airports never slept, which was at once a blessing and a curse. She used to be such a heavy sleeper – now, she couldn’t even take a nap at a relatively deserted airport lounge. She was growing old and dull – past her prime, like _das Bild_ had written snidely. She couldn’t even win an international competition anymore.

She jumped as Pieter snorted loudly in his sleep, drool seeping from his gaping mouth. Now Pieter, _he_ didn’t seem to age a bit. Why, he could still spin on his head the way he used to when they first met as teens, whereas she hadn’t attempted to dance on pointe for nearly a decade. She watched Babette snuggle up to Pieter, wrapping her arms tightly around him. What had started as an alcohol-induced fling had somehow morphed into a long-term relationship, turning Pieter into an insufferable, lovesick roommate. Most nights he wasn’t even home anymore, opting to stay over at Babette’s, and their tradition of having Chinese takeout every Friday night was long forgotten.

 _Beep._ Her chiming phone disrupted her trail of thought.

 **Kleine Maus:** I’m back safe & sound. Call off the cops. Xx Beca

Luisa smiled to herself as she typed in response.

 **Luisa Meyer:** Glad to hear it. Happy we bumped into each other. Miss you already.

Almost immediately her phone bleeped again.

 **Kleine Maus:** Me or my compliments? Jk. It’s a shame we didn’t get to spend much time with each other. Damn that train stop.

 **Luisa Meyer:** Both. And damn indeed. We have to make up for lost time.

 **Kleine Maus:** Maybe we’ll see each other in Frankfurt? I haven’t visited my mother in years.

 **Luisa Meyer:** Whenever you have time. I’ll be your tour guide.

 **Kleine Maus:** What’s your hourly rate?

 **Luisa Meyer:** For you it’s free. You can repay me later. I have a few ideas.

 **Kleine Maus:** Surprise me. Btw what happened to your flight??

 **Luisa Meyer:** Still delayed. You should check your flight just in case.

 **Kleine Maus:** I will. I still haven’t packed, I’m awful.

 **Luisa Meyer:** Ok. Let me know when your flight is. Maybe we’ll see each other again.

 **Kleine Maus:** I hope so! Good night! Xx

 **Luisa Meyer:** Good night Mäuschen. See you in your dreams.

 **Kleine Maus:** Who said I dream abt you?? That’s a lie. Never. Ever. Just once. Ok good night.

 **Luisa Meyer:** ;)

***

Beca’s eyes snapped open as her alarm belted out her recording of Emily’s ‘Flashlight’. She fretfully jabbed the snooze button and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping dearly that she might resume her dream. She clung onto the image of her and Luisa making out on a four-poster bed, willing her brain to show her the rest.

No such luck. Conceding defeat, she unlocked her phone and scrolled through her unread messages. Her father had called her thrice, no doubt to scold her again on the spectacle she had caused by breaking up with Jesse in public. Keagan Stephens’s PA had sent her a message to arrange a meeting about her latest work with Emily. Another email from The Barden Bellas Alumni Association – the chairwoman had arranged a photoshoot and an interview with _People_ magazine, and would the current Bellas be available for a live performance on _The Ellen DeGeneres Show?_

Well, at least Ellen wouldn’t be ‘Team Jesse’. Just as she was about to toss her phone aside, her screen lit up. A message from Luisa!

 **Kommissar:** Good morning Mäuschen. Are you awake?

 **Beca:** Morning! I just got up. Are you still at the airport?

 **Kommissar:** We are. Finally air visibility has cleared up in Berlin. We’re taking the flight at 14.30.

 **Beca:** 14.30? Do you mean 2.30 pm?

 **Kommissar:** Yeees. You Americans.

 **Beca:** Ok but our flight’s also at 2.30 to Berlin. Then we’re flying from Berlin to Atlanta the next day.

 **Kommissar:** We’re on the same flight now? Oh this is going to be fun.

 **Beca:** Ok I’m freaking out now.

 **Kommissar:** Member of the mile high club?

 **Beca:** I think I’ll go now. See you in a few hours.

 **Kommissar:** I’ll be waiting.

The Bellas and DSM in the same plane. Her heart ached for the flight attendants already.

***

“What are you grinning at?” asked Pieter, eyeing Luisa curiously.

Luisa, who was reading through her texts from Beca, gave Pieter a bland smile. “Nothing.”

“Mmm.” Pieter threw her a suspicious look.

“Bet it’s the troll,” grinned Markus.

“Oh, hush,” said Elif, punching his arm. “Leave her alone. Anyone wants to grab some coffee?”

“I do,” said Luisa, jumping to her feet.

“Get me an espresso, will you?” said Pieter loudly.

Luisa rolled her eyes as they walked to the nearest café. “Would it kill him to get his own coffee once?”

“Yes,” said Elif cheerfully. “Two black coffees and one espresso, please.”

“Wait a minute.” The barista stared at Luisa. “You aren’t the _Kommissar,_ are you?”

“She is,” beamed Elif.

“And you’re in DSM, too!” he exclaimed, pointing at Elif. “I was at the Worlds! You were holding the rope! I loved that slow-motion part!”

 “Delighted,” said Luisa. “How much for the three coffees?”

“You guys were brilliant! I _still_ can’t believe you lost to those girly Bellas, that was so _cheesy_ –”

“I know, right?” said Elif conversationally. “I still think the ship at the beginning was a nice touch, Luisa. That French judge had no vision.”

“Can I pay for the coffees, please?" said Luisa tartly.

“Just let me take a selfie first, if it’s okay?” asked the barista eagerly, brandishing his phone.

She would die a happy person if she never heard the word _selfie_ ever again, she thought irritably as she wrapped her arm around Elif’s shoulder. The barista leaned over the counter, smiled widely and snapped away.

“Thanks! And your coffees are on the house.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Elif, peering at his name badge. “Nice to meet you … Alex.”

“ _Tak, Alex,”_ said Luisa, shoving five Euros in the tip box.

“That was nice of him,” said Elif as they exited the café.

“Still, I am sick of having my picture taken,” muttered Luisa. “If I have to smile _one_ more time –”

“That reminds me!” Elif paused suddenly, slopping her coffee on the floor. “You were smiling at something the troll wrote, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“You two are really cute together. You should ask her out!”

“ _Wie denn?_ How?” said Luisa sourly. “We don’t even live in the same continent. It’s hopeless – will you stop elbowing me?”

“Over there,” grinned Elif, gesturing to the right.

“Oh!” Luisa's eyes lit up at the sight of Beca and her fellow Bellas stumbling out the elevator, arguing loudly.

“You knew she had a flight today, didn’t you?”

“They’re changing over in Berlin,” said Luisa. “ _Mäuschen! Morgen!”_

 _“Nein._ ” Elif clapped her mouth. “Please don’t tell me we’re flying with them.”

“Okay, I won’t,” shrugged Luisa.

“Hi, Luisa!” said Beca, waving. “I can’t believe we’re all on the same flight.”

Blondie opened her eyes wide in horror. “You don’t mean –?”

“She does,” said Elif faintly. “ _Meine Güte.”_

“Yes, and the Bellas are going to _behave_ this time,” said Beca, glaring at the Bella with wavy black hair. “That means no itching powder, Flo. Or vibrators, Stace.”

“Vibrators? _Itching powder?”_ repeated Elif in disbelief. “You’ll pay for this, Luisa.”

“I didn’t arrange this!” protested Luisa, half-laughing.

“Yeah, blame Murphy,” nodded Beca. “By the way, watch out for Lilly. She might try and steal your hairpins.”

***

Note to self: never board a flight with your ex-boyfriend and current flirt ever again.

“He’s acting like I left him at the altar,” muttered Beca, watching a desolate Jesse sigh audibly.

“He _is_ overreacting,” agreed Cynthia-Rose. “He only got rejected on live television in front of millions of viewers, and got hit in the head with his own ring …”

 “I didn’t mean to throw that hard,” said Beca defensively. “And I didn’t ask him to propose on live television, either.”

“I know you didn’t,” said Cynthia-Rose. “All I’m saying is, he hasn’t had the best week. Let him feel sorry for himself. At least he’s got Benjy to distract him.”

Beca handed a bored Lufthansa worker her passport and boarding pass. “D’you think he’s noticed anything?”

“If you mean how Luisa’s been eyeing you hungrily, no,” she snickered. “It’s actually hilarious, the way she’s sizing you up.”

“Be quiet!”

“Bless heteronormativity. Jesse will never cotton on.”

“She’s not talking about anyone here,” said Beca hurriedly as the airline worker looked up in amusement. “She means another Luisa.”

“Mmhmm.” She tore her boarding pass. “Have a nice flight.”

“I doubt it,” mumbled Beca.

“ _Herzlich Willkommen!_ Welcome!” beamed a flight attendant with jelled hair as she entered the plane.

“Ten bucks says he’ll quit before take-off,” whispered Cynthia.

“Don’t say that!” said Beca desperately. “D'you think that flight attendant really tried to get us blacklisted?”

“I wouldn’t blame her, not after the three laxatives Ashley threw in the orange juice."

“Oooh!” Beca jumped in fright as someone squealed behind her. “You two are the _Bellas!_ The a cappella champions!”

“Guilty,” said Cynthia.

“Oh look, the rest of the Bellas are here as well!” she exclaimed watching Jessica, Flo and Stacie pile inside. “Even Aubrey’s here! And – no _way!_ Even _DSM_ is on this flight!”

“An unfortunate coincidence,” sniffed Pieter.

“It is! It’s the Bellas and DSM! Look, everyone!” exclaimed a gangly teenager.

A collective gasp echoed in the cabin.

“That’s Pieter! And Philipp!”

“Oh my god, isn’t that the guy that lead Bella dumped?”

“Look! It’s _the Kommissar!_ She’s here!”

“ _DSM! Ja! DSM! Ja! DSM! Ja!”_

 _“Leise!”_ shouted Luisa crossly, her eyes flashing dangerously. Almost immediately, the raucous fans stopped chanting. Beca could understand why – _she_ was half-scared of Luisa herself, even though she hadn’t uttered a word.

 _“Um Gottes Willen,”_ she grumbled, approaching Beca and Cynthia’s row. “This is going to be a long flight. _Hallo, Mäuschen._ Cynthia-Rose. _”_

“Hi,” said Beca, feeling the blood creep up her neck yet again – her body was out to sabotage her, she knew it. “Some fans.”

 _“Peinlich._ Embarrassing,” said Luisa with a shudder. “Cynthia-Rose, I have a problem.”

“A problem?” said Cynthia, wrinkling her brow.

“Yes,” said Luisa smoothly. “You see, the airline has upgraded our tickets because of the delay. But I really don’t feel like sitting in business class. So uptight. So if you would be willing to change seats…”

“ _Ah_.” Cynthia's eyes lit up in understanding. “Well, that _would_ be a huge sacrifice on my part, but I guess we could.”

“That’s very generous of you," said Luisa formally.

“It is,” nodded Cynthia. “Which seat?”

“3A. Tell Pieter I'll throw away his Zombie Attack CDs if he doesn't behave.”

“Right. Bye, Beca,” winked Cynthia, grabbing her backpack. “Later, Luisa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> das Bild: a popular German newspaper
> 
> Okay, so I only thought of checking to see if there is a direct flight from Berlin to Atlanta _after_ finishing this chapter. Turns out there isn't, so pretend there is in the Becommissar universe. Signed, this is why I'll never be a professional writer.


	17. It's Been A Wild Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It pains me to write this, but I’m leaving. I haven’t been doing well for a long time and my family is struggling. I have no energy or time left for fanfic writing or Tumblr, and it's not fair on anyone waiting for updates. I’ve been bowled over by the kindness and love in this fandom, never understanding how anyone could deem my mediocre stories worthy of such generosity. I apologize from the bottom of my heart to anyone who might have been enjoying this story and was looking forward to the rest. Below I’m posting the unedited scraps of my last chapter in progress, a jumble of words put haphazardly together over the course of ten months. The rest, I leave to your imagination. Take care and goodbye <3

**September 2015, Copenhagen**

_A tall, blonde girl rushes confidently on stage. Her red lips form a bright smile, her head is held high. Everyone watches her, enthralled, as she jumps and twirls, executing each pose skillfully. Her skirt swishes around her, a cloud of majestic red. The audience begins to clap as she turns one perfect pirouette after another. She finishes with a flourish in a high arabesque, lingering for a second longer to show off. The crowd erupts in applause, marveling at this young talent, whose inexperience is more than compensated by her promise. She approaches the center, beaming widely, and takes a sweeping bow, basking in the admiration of the spectators and her fellow students on stage._

_The scene abruptly shifts to a messy room. “That was the first time I watched her dance,” enthuses a youthful Pieter, his hair over-jelled. “Look, I had – and have – no idea about ballet, but even I could see she was a brilliant Katzi.”_

_“It’s Kitri!” sounds an irritated voice._

_“Sure, Kitri!” yells Pieter, but mouths ‘Katzi’ into the camera. “So that’s the story of Luisa’s nickname, anon. Next question. ‘Would Luisa have continued with ballet if she hadn’t met you?’ No. I had nothing to do with it, so I don’t want any ballerinas coming after me with pitchforks. Next question …”_

Beca groaned as her screen froze for the umpteenth time. After Luisa’s admission of Pieter’s channel, she had to watch all the videos she could before Chloe woke up, no matter how sketchy the connection might be. As she had guessed, finding his channel hadn’t been hard at all. He did indeed seem to be rather popular, what with over half a million subscribers and millions of views. His videos ranged from outrageous, like the ones where his followers dared him to, say, go to a restaurant in boxer shorts, to touching, such as the Q&A Beca was watching, where he heaped praise on Luisa – or Katzi, as he affectionately called her.

She instinctively shielded her screen as Chloe shifted in her sleep. Somehow, she had failed to mention her chance meeting with Luisa. Keeping it a secret felt exciting, mysterious, as if it had been an illicit rendezvous between forbidden lovers. She knew she was being silly – her life was nothing like those sappy love stories – but the heady scent of Luisa was enough to render her senseless.

She clicked the ‘Subscribe’ button, shoved her laptop under her bed, and shut her eyes, replaying the evening over and over until she fell asleep.

 

***

**October 2015, the flight**

“Sit down!” snapped Beca, glaring at Lilly. “Nobody is leaving their seats. Got it?”

“What if we have sudden bowel movements?” asked Flo.

“What if the wings catch on fire?”

“What if we crash in the ocean?”

“What if the pilot has a heart attack?”

“What if –”

“No ifs,” said Beca firmly. “You stay seated, else I’ll tell the customs officer about your stash of itching powder when we land.”

Silence. Beca exhaled in relief. Her nerves were shot already, and the plane hadn’t even taken off yet.

“Quite a rambunctious group,” said Luisa amusedly.

“You have no idea,” said Beca. “They’re worse than Pieter, trust me.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she grinned. Her left hand inched towards Beca’s leg.

 

***

 

**October 2015, Berlin**

Beca handed Luisa a clean handkerchief. “Are you feeling better?” she asked anxiously.

Luisa nodded slightly, tossing a bloodied hanky aside. “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Don’t worry.”

“You don’t look fine,” said Beca, staring at Luisa’s blood-streaked face. Her head was tipped back, a fruitless attempt to lessen the blood gushing from her nose. Her left hand pinched the tip of her nose, while the right was tightly entwined with Beca’s.

“Just a nose bleed,” she said, her voice muffled. “You’re here. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course I’m here,” said Beca, squeezing her hand.  “It was my fault. Sorry.”

Luisa shook her head. “I’m not complaining, Mäuschen. Consider it our first date.”

“No way,” objected Beca. “I’m not having a first date at the emergency room.”

“The operation room, then. Or the morgue.”

“No!” she protested, half laughing. “Our first date will be somewhere romantic. Nowhere near a hospital.”

Luisa threw her a mischievous look. “Are you asking me out, Tiny Maus?”

“If you want me to.”

“Ask me,” she ordered.

Not even a broken nose would stop Luisa from flirting with her. “Will you go out with me?” she asked casually.

“That was a feeble attempt,” scoffed Luisa, grabbing a clean hanky. “ _Mit Gefühl._ With passion.”

“You have your priorities confused,” said Beca, gesturing at her swollen nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a wild ride and I'm feeling ridiculously emotional. This was not how I planned to end things, by far not the last fic I planned on writing, but that's life. Long live Becommissar!


End file.
